SHIRKING
I should not be writing a poem, there’s ironing to do,
At least six shirts, two blouses and tablecloths too,
The ironing board is set up and there the clothes hang,
Maybe my fairy godmother will arrive with a bang.
I do not really mind ironing, worse things come to mind,
Cleaning the fridge and stove are a much greater bind,
But I have cleaned the fridge, the stove looks rather grim,
Add those to the ironing and life looms dark and dim.
So at the moment I’m cheating before the task I start,
A short poem to make me smile to give me heart,
The pen is mightier than the sword, wise men say,
Maybe if I keep writing the ironing will just fade away.
The stove may suddenly be clean, gleam like new,
If the power of words is great they should pull through
Some simple household chore, overcome each task
Then think of all the poets in great words would bask.
But no, there are shirts and blouses all in a neat row,
Waiting to be pressed and then put away to show
That you really care, and flowing words have to wait,
I’ll be back to write poetry so more words meet their fate.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 6 October 2004