I don't mind the cooking, I don't mind the cleaning Of rooms that are covered with dust. Toward mending and sewing I haven't much leaning, But do them, as housekeepers must; To market for food isn't one of my wishes, And yet I can stand it, I think; But, oh, how I loathe and detest doing dishes The terrible dishes Unbearable dishes That glower at me from the sink! The making of beds isn't highly exciting, But still, I don't mind it a lot, And scrubbing the floor isn't very inviting Yet somehow it troubles me not; But I feel I'm poorest of all the poor fishes My temper it puts on the blink To turn to the duty of washing the dishes, The wearisome dishes The drearisome dishes That glower at me from the sink. I've never found housework exactly enthralling, But mostly it isn't so bad— It's only the dishes that seem so appalling And make me so constantly mad. I hate every dish and the dish rag that swishes, I hate pots and pans as they clink. I hate 'em, I hate 'em—those darn dirty dishes Those spitefullest dishes Those frightfullest dishes That glower at me from the sink! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENT, ON THE BACK OF THE POET'S MS. OF CANTO I OF 'DON JUAN' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 71 by OMAR KHAYYAM ON IMAGINATION by PHILLIS WHEATLEY THE NEW JERUSALEM by AUGUSTINE GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 11 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |