Poetry of a Beatnik Housewife

Integration

Slippery
Slimy
Segregated oil covering all
Powerless water
Rushing
Rising
Scalding metal and skin
Plunge deeper
Work faster
Fruitless labor
Only soap can break the barrier
Ah miracle of lemon scent
Rubbing
Scrubbing
Bubbling to a higher plane of existence
Clean!
Clean!
Hands softened in the watery basin of life's long day
Emerge calloused and cracked in the dry air of brief reprieve

9 comments:

  1. Aww, Candi. Only you could turn cleaning into a lovely poem. Even if you do need a beret to do it. ;)

    P.S. my word verification is restist. I'm pretty sure that is to resist resting... which is what I spend every Monday doing. How appropriate.

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  2. Now I need to go clean my house. :( Great poem though! ;)

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  3. Like Chantele it actually makes me want to go clean - but I'm sure the feeling will pass

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  4. *snap applause*

    Groovy, lady. You really reached another level here. And I dig it.



    P.S. One day I need to see you perform this with a set of bongo drums. Preferably in a smoke filled cafe.

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  5. I cut my finger doing the dishes the other day. It is too dangerous to clean. So I am on strike. :)

    Great poem.

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  6. You almost make cleaning sound enjoyable. I working on my bedroom today. So much clutter *shakes head in disgust*

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  7. I just had my husband pick up dinner tonight so that I wouldn't have to clean my kitchen.

    Cheesy
    Lumpy
    Creamy
    Paper bowls
    Plastic spoons
    Panera soup for a group
    In the trashcan

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  8. lol... fruitless labor, indeed. Oh to be so lucky!

    Nice to meet you. :)

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