The Poet Mom

I clean it and care for it because I must

But make no mistake it is my enemy.

The odor makes my nose wriggle in disgust.

Its maintenance requires advanced alchemy.

♦

The oozing drips and yellow puddles

Fill my heart with dismay.

The state of it befuddles.

How could it look like this every day?

♦

My roomies seem not to notice my frustration

As they continually manage to miss the mark.

For them there is no mitigation

It is my task alone on which to embark.

♦

I purchase the latest in cleaning absurdities

And diligently perform my recalcitrant duties.

However, I alone cannot sustain the neatness I desire.

So, it is a maid I will very soon hire.