Another potshot for the harried housewife :)!
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Pitch Fork

Do you know where I'd like to pitch this fork?
I prefer 'beef' but, somehow, I got 'pork'.
To keep me happy, keep me in 'the pink'
the hog should shower instead of stink.
The more I do, the more he makes me work ...
I'm beginning to think he's such a jerk!
Dare I tell you how I scrub the laundry
while he says I lounge eating sweets, candy?
Then he has the nerve to get HOT, randy!

You have three guesses where I'd pitch this fork.
I dare not say the place ... he'd blow a cork.
He thinks 'as a granny,' I should dress 'down.'
Pushed much further, I'll dress as a clown
or, better yet, dust in evening gowns.
Who cares if they 'talk' in these little towns?
I want to smile again ... perhaps go dance.
He promises, then says, "There is no chance."
What is a couple when there's no romance?

Can't tell you where I'd like to pitch this thing.
Played right we make music. Oh, we both sing.
I scrub the baseboards and towel dry the floor
but why live a life like this evermore?
We only have one life, let's enjoy it ...
why clean without if one feels a misfit?
Going to stick this fork where the sun don't shine.
Let others sit around working and whine.
They can waste their lives; I'm not wasting mine!