The Futility Of Housework
You can’t keep the dust
from coming back
no matter how
often you sweep.
The stack of unopened
mail grows deep
until you lose
the will to tackle it.
Unwashed clothes
grow legs, climb out
of overflowing baskets.
6 thoughts on "The Futility Of Housework"
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True, good description of the futility of housework.
I absolutely feel this poem deeply.
Agreed and love the clothes abandoning the basket
So true.
I can see it all – in the next room, even!
I love the surrealistic turn at the end.