“Pick up your socks, or I’m throwing them away!
They’re left on the floor day after day.
The laundry room isn’t that far from here.
Oh please pick them up, won’t you, dear?”
“You didn’t used to talk like this,
When we first started out in marital bliss.
Back then you loved picking up after me,
Now you have issues, it’s clear to see.”
“Honey, I love you, but this gets on my nerves.
Many years have passed since I was that girl.
My back aches now, and it ain’t so grand,
For me to pick up your socks by hand.”
He looks over at me and I look back,
Before you know it, we start to laugh.
“I’m serious,” I say, and he answers, “I know.”
We kiss and hug, and off he goes.
I arise the next morning and gaze towards the floor.
It’s the same thing all over as the day before.
I shake my head and pick up his socks.
It isn’t romance, but it matters not.
Copyright ©2004 by Deborah Anderson.