Chores

Chores. Oh, chores.

When you’re five,
they’re 20 minute requirements here and there.
You don’t see what goes into a home, if you care.

When you’re twenty, you’re on your own,
but with 1 person’s mess, there’s no need to moan.

When you’re married, there’s two.
Twice the mess, so the chores go to who?

That’s the question, not easy to answer.
I could be submissive wife and say, “Yes, sir!”

Or argue my case and say “You help, too!”
This is what I want, this much is true.

But most of the time I don’t mind doing it,
because the gender role just seems to fit.

I want things clean now, and you don’t mind,
so I can be the one to find…
the vaccum
the mop
the detergent
the dust mitt
the pledge
the Windex
the paper towels (so many paper towels)

…but you still clean the cars, okay?

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