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.