On Task

This place can never be clean-

 

There is always one earring,

a nail, nail polish, dubbing,

red lego and blue tack

in a bowl.

 

A paintbrush is used for sky,

eye shadow,

unclogging a blender.

 

Dogs smell,

drinks stain,

love and laughter

spoils soft furnishings.

 

'Stay on task Mum',

the gentle melody

of kindly impatience

is leading me back

to a goalie glove hunt,

a brimming bath

or French toast on fire.

 

So I abandon the poem

on a half baked

unmade metaphor;

there are no empty surfaces in here.

 

◄ Quoth Both

Raineth ►

Comments

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Cathy Crabb

Mon 26th May 2014 23:32

Thanks Dave. Yes, it's a right mess!

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Dave Bradley

Thu 15th May 2014 14:25

Love it. All sorts of images of a crowded cluttered happy home come to mind.

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Cathy Crabb

Thu 15th May 2014 13:39

Thank you both very much. I stopped doing something to write the poem. I think it was the dishes. My fella is the only one with domestic skills in this house Cynthia, and he is usually out taking pictures. But we do love this tip of a house and those dragged up children, oh yes, we do.

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Isobel

Wed 14th May 2014 14:21

Love it! Especially love the last verse and line - very subtle - nothing wrong with YOUR metaphors :)

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 14th May 2014 11:54

Fabulous, fast and funny, and gut-wrenching in its truth. I often wonder if men really do 'get it'. Surely some must.

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