I saw it on FaceBook
The Holy Grail of Womanhood
The great sacred mystery of domesticity
The perfectly folded fitted sheet
But I am not a household saint
My mysteries are more mundane
Why does the trash can smell
Like a monkey cemetery?
Why is a bowl balanced, perched
Precarious so that it will lurch
Onto my head when the door
To the cabinet is opened?
Why do my feet go squick, squick
When I cross the floor in the kitchen?
What is the liquid that sticks
Stubbornly to the bottom of the fridge?
Why has the cat barfed again
On the sofa pillow, the large one?
The dog left crumbled bone
To mix with slopped water from her bowl?
The signs of my failure surround me
The path to perfection is too steep
Too many steps ahead
I give up.
Leave a Reply.