who does my dishes and laundry
who makes my meals and bed
as if they were sacramental acts
but who’s often so rude and lazy
nowhere to be found when
the toilet needs scrubbing or
the floors beg for his knees
but no matter how I beat him
about the face and neck with kisses
or rub his head and back
and call him my dear one my honey
he still sleeps in like a school boy
I must rouse and make lunch for
and get him off to his day when all
this is what he should be doing for me
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