A humorous poem about how men versus women regard hidden dust.
Men and women have a different view
of the world we all jointly occupy.
My wife can get herself all in a stew
over some things that make me wonder why.
For example, while watching a TV
show, she’ll say seemingly out of the blue,
“I know hiding under the couch must be
dust harboring a microbial zoo.”
Translation: “The couch must be moved forthwith
so she can vacuum the rug underneath.
That dust simply MUST be done away with.”
I’ve learned to nod yes while I grit my teeth.
In midst of talk while we eat our dinner,
I hear her say, “I think we need to clean
under the fridge.” I’ll not be the winner
in this. To her it’s all about hygiene.
Any man knows, if dust is out of sight,
it’s fine to ignore it and never sweep.
But I’ve failed to convince her this is right.
What? Unseen dust makes her unable to sleep?
I experience that phenomenon every evening when she's around, if even for only a brief time, that dust does get to her brain.
On a side thought. Now that everyone insists on going back to good old, "hardwood floors," it will once again be very easy to sweep that dust under the throw rugs. ;-)
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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On a side thought. Now that everyone insists on going back to good old, "hardwood floors," it will once again be very easy to sweep that dust under the throw rugs. ;-)
Ron