Sundae Morning! Poem by Marshall E Gass

Its a Sunday morning when the world works to a different pattern
housework claws in and takes control
of the daily tasks
last weeks work looks at me with doleful eyes
and a feather duster tickles my fancy.

Soon the clutter will unclutter itself
the vacuum cleaner will suck out the symphony
of dust and dirt and unhidden memories
and my desk will be tidied up and paper
towels will do their job.I spend time
re-arranging rubbish in a more distinct pattern
' Ah, so there's that telephone number I scribbled last week! '

I return after an hours homework
and settle at my desk.
' Now where did I leave that phone number again? '

I survey the scene on AP
and skim through the comments
'God, he did not like my last poem,
She said: Keep it real
He said: What does this mean? '

and and and
The Green Eyes are forever smiling

Its a worthwhile Sunday

I better take up Chapter 36 of my book
but open Mathematical Universe instead.

Those eyes are haunting!
Its a beautiful Sunday.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.