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.