For humanity’s sake, I hope not everyone can relate to this poem. I’m a messy person. I have no trouble admitting it, though I’m not proud of it either. I hate cleaning and would rather leave my house looking like a wrecking ball has just hit it rather than clean it. Which brings me to this poem. I often find that my main motivation for doing housework is so that, if I were to die suddenly, my house would be presentable for visitors to come and pay their respects. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I have to laugh at myself for doing this. I wonder if anyone else feels the same way?
There is dusting to be done when the vultures start to close in
It’s time to soak the mop when the air horn sounds
When the gas begins to leak, from outside I take the clothes in
And tidy them away before continuing my rounds.
When the floor begins to tremble, knocking trinkets off the shelf,
It’s time to fill the sink with soap and water,
Employ tattered yellow gloves to clean the dishes, shine the delph,
In case the flames two floors below get any hotter.
All the carpets must be steamed when I hear the bullets fire,
Change all the bedclothes when the floodwaters loom.
Pressure’s on. Tick tock, tick tock, is it the red or blue wire?
Crash! Bang! Splat! At least I tidied my room.