A Day In The Life Of - Me! - Poem by Ernestine Northover
I wake up in the morning and pull back the curtains, wide,
And look out through the window to view the world outside,
To see if the sky is blue or grey, sunny or with rain,
And see if the postman's on his way with letters that contain,
News of family and friends, and more 'bills' by the way,
Attempting to motivate the mind, and start another day.
With all the jobs I have to do before we leave the house,
To get the breakfast going, for self and for my spouse,
To put clothes in the washing machine, make sandwiches for lunch,
And add some fruit and maybe also, some biscuits we can munch.
To load the car with coats and bags, and other odds and ends,
And quickly venture off to work and see what the day sends.
With people wanting this and that and taking orders for
Various kinds of merchandise which we might have in store,
Writing down their preferences for all their different needs,
Sorting out the dates and times, working at different speeds.
Busy as we move along, through the hours set for work,
Having no time to rest awhile, there is no time to shirk.
The telephone keeps ringing, the doorbell's buzzing too,
I'd really love a cup of tea, but what am I to do,
There's 'can I have', 'would you please' and 'could you just this once',
I'm really getting hungry, my stomach, how it grunts.
There's 'what's the time? ' and 'must get done' before we start to close,
And having stood the whole day long, there's the pain that's in my toes.
Out go the lights, down come the blinds, it's time to pack away,
All the paperwork and goods that we have used today,
Sweep the floor, dust the shelves, check orders already placed,
Tidy everything away, and clear the bags of waste.
Switch off the lights, set the alarm, close and lock the door,
Jump in the car, slip off the shoes, now the toes are really sore.
Here's home at last but there's no rest yet, the washing in the drum
Must be hung up, so here we go. My feet are going numb.
There's vacuuming, and ironing, the meal to prepare and cook,
Oh, how I would love to just sit down and quietly read a book.
At last it's time to climb the stairs, I'm ready for my bed,
Until a 'certain' alarm, shatters the sweet dreams in my head.
© Ernestine Northover
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