I wrote this poem about six years ago and kept it on the shelf in my laundry room. Now it has come to the blog world. Just so you know, this is a true story!
Launderella
Well I’ve got three kids.
But no, it’s really four.
You have to count my husband
To even the score.
They come running through the house
Saying “Mama, where are you?
I’m hungry. I’m thirsty.
And I want some juice.”
I’m in the laundry room.
Where else would I be.
My name is Launderella.
This job’s killin’ me.
This laundry business
Ain’t for me.
I’m gonna get outta here
You wait and see.
I now know why
They only make
Little boy’s clothes
The color of chocolate cake.
It used to bother me
But I’m over that.
I’ve washed scorpions, rocks
But at least not the cat.
My poem’s almost done
But the laundry is not.
It’s a never ending pile
In cold, warm or hot.
It’s the job we all hate.
But it has to get done.
It will not defeat me.
I am the stronger one.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment