after Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening”
Whose crap is this? I know, I know;
It hails from somewhere down below
Where mousies prowl and spiders spin
And nary a human dares to go.
But go we did, my boxes to get
In other places each to set.
There must be at least a hundred more;
Keep on, keep on, we’re not done yet!
They fill the rooms and line the halls,
Block the doors and climb the walls
To such a hideous dizzying height;
They threaten those who rise at night.
Down the steps then up we climb,
Time after time after time after time,
Till finally we see bare floor
And one poor mouse that breathes no more.
My kids have tired of seeing what’s hid
In every box, 'neath every lid
“T’is junk!” they cry then flounce away.
They will not help; they will not stay
To see me deal with such a mess
How long it will take is anyone’s guess,
But all this crap I cannot keep,
Boxes to go before I sleep,
Boxes to go before I sleep.
This poem was written during March 12'16 Write Saturday and is published here due to popular demand.