The New Wife's Lament Poem by Bryan Taplits

'Rush, rush, rush, -not a second left to spare.
Must ferret all my kitchen pots,
-Not mix them with my wares.
Everyone should be here soon-
So no moment of reprieve
Wow! Wish there were more of me
So each could do my deeds.'

'Finally! The chicken's done,
I smell the fragrant sweet.
But where are the potatoes?
We need more than fowl to eat!
O My God!
My heart quakes so-those cakes I need get done-
All the kids would fret at this omission -
I‘m still waiting for all the fun! .'

'Time is short, the clock says so,
so I must not be a spate too late. This night
To cook and clean and serve on time seems to be my distaff-culinary fate.'

'Yes! . At times my dear husband, he treats me like a ward
But there's no time now to recriminate-
Before the advancing of the hoard
Besides, I know, I'm lucky-
('At least I'm far from bored!) .'

'There! I've done it all! '-I know I have
(I crow that I'm no slouch) ,
Reclining seems so sinful, but…
I crumble towards the couch.'

'And soon I yawn and stretch in full,
So spent that I could shout,
I dream and plod in boozy thrall as I
March to my day's redoubt.'

'Suddenly, starting up I screech:
'Oh God, Oh, no! ' I comb my mind in doubt:
'The invitations' (I stentoriously caw) -
'Did I send the invitations out! ! ? '