Poem Of The Day #14

Image by Dariusz Sankowski from Pixabay

In an alternative history of an alternative universe,
we would have nagged each other to death. 
You are so clean and immaculate--
your desk is free of a speck of dust,
pens, files, folders line up as if soldiers in morning drills. 
How much your mother must have tidied and washed and scrubbed?
But I'm no match--my activities are mainly mental.
I believe in labor of love;
I believe in keeping up the appearances, 
I believe in suffering to satisfy vanities,
but only to an extent.
And this extent is all that matters.

13 thoughts on “Poem Of The Day #14

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