Laundry Day Poem by Paula Glynn

The boiler's not working again;
Big surprise there,
I had to make an appointment,
With a doctor,
Who turned out to be no good,
Even though I look after myself,
Like I should,
And have only a few problems,
With my mental health,
Depression hard to deal with,

But today is Saturday:
Laundry day,
A day when the scrubbing,
Gets the job done,
Where cleaning,
Being spick & span,
Including cleaning those old frying pans,
Adult life being what it is,
And means always doing what one must,
And giving everything a dust,

For I dust like I must,
And when it comes to cleaning,
Have only myself to trust,
Others lazy with their ways,
Leaving mess and clutter,
For me to tidy,
And then I mutter,

Frustrated at their mess,
Wanting that culprit,
Who didn't wash their coffee cup,
To confess,
And then address,
Their lazy habits,
Minds like lazy rabbits,

Hopping from place-to-place,
No order or structure in their lives,
Or homes, a bomb to have hit,
And seeing them smoke a little bit,
But it annoys me, seeing their lazy ways,
When I used to be the same,

But old habits breed contempt,
Money on the laundry detergent,
To be well spent,
My home a small, cosy hotel,
A place I always knew well,
For I have kept my home,
A place where I reap what I sow,
And know what I know,
My home the only place I go.