I hate Dishes
Boy, I hate washing dishes
That soapy, sudsy chore
Gloves that squeak
No pleasure me
A washing, wanting bore
Bubbles burst right up my nose
Water soon becomes a soup
What I’ve rinsed away
Sticks back on plates
An endless, thankless loop
Let me clean the toilet
At least I get to see
A filthy bowl
Soiled by countless souls
Scrubbed beautiful by me
Or what about the vacuum?
A pleasing, peaceful quest
Sullied pile sucked clean
Asthmatics dream
Doomed dust mites are all dead
I’ll empty out your rubbish
Dust, iron, wash or the like
I’ll feed your fishes
But damn the dishes…
Ain’t doing ‘em, I’m on strike.