I ask, I talk, I beg, I threaten
And yet, I cannot get through to those crètins.
Why do they drop their socks and undies
Right where the visitors can see their sundries?
Why do they mark up toilet and walls
Around the baseboards and down all the halls?
Do they think no one sees the yellow?
Do they think they are rather tidy fellows?
Yet, much as I blame them for messes;
As much as I blame them for all my stresses;
I’m the one who whines and gripes, then groans
While I pick it all up and tidy our home.
©2019 Chelsea Owens