In anticipation of a major
Cleaning of
our floors,
I’ve begun
to whittle down my stuff,
The toughest
of the chores.
I thought I
tossed a lot of things
And worked
with true devotion
But my
husband says it’s like I took
A teacup to
the ocean.
If he took
charge, there would be
Nothing
sentimental left
And yes, it
would look better
But would
leave me quite bereft.
He’ll have
to wait until I die
And, if I
predecease,
He can empty
our apartment
And live emptily
in peace.
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