Chore Poem
By Om Satapathy
I was very dismal,
as I was handed the mop.
But I didn't want my home
to turn into a swamp.
What I wanted to do
was walk out the door,
but I was in constant
battle with the floor.
Eww! This place was as
sorry as a slimy slug,
almost like it was ransacked
by a tiny thug.
WHOOSH! the mop went
as it smacked the ground.
And the room was
suddenly racked with sound.
At last the floor
smiled at me now,
and I had as much glee
as an elated cow.