Chaos Theory

Division of labour needs delicate balance,
So often the wrecker of modern romance
With both teams silently competing
Over jobs that daily need repeating
Even though, if taking a survey,
Each would declare for sure that they
Loathe the housework
Hate the chores
Find Domestica such a bore,
Would gleefully skip over the detail
Risking the prospect of harmony-fail
Simply because they think no-one sees
(‘After all, it’s just you and me…’)
But each, it seems, would honour the task
If only in order not to be asked,
Knowing that, however tiresome,
This kind of labour just has to be done.
If only for one to prove to the other
That, yes, actually, they CAN be bothered…
Both remembering times as a child
When mums would drive themselves quite wild
Just to make sure the house was in order
For Hubby’s daily return across the border.
And so it was that I was patterned,
A little less rigorously, as it happened,
Happy to spread the mess of endeavour
And leave it there for ever and ever…
At least until there are visitors due
Or I can simply no longer pursue
The simplest of daily domestic events
Without a thorough risk assessment…


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