Each morning, I get up with little sobs,
to tackle my to-do list. Then, each night,
I crawl back into bed. I’ve done my jobs.
Last Saturday, I whizzed through bits and bobs
like Hercules! Go me! All hail my might!
Next morning, I got up. With little sobs,
I thought of laundry, filing, scrubbing blobs
of jam from doors. I laboured through the light,
then crawled back into bed, all done. My jobs,
however, buddied up in little mobs
to ambush me again. It wasn’t right!
Next morning, I got up with little sobs
and begged the gods for switchy-offy knobs
and mercy. Nope. I did stuff. Fought the fight,
then crawled back into bed. I’d done my jobs.
Working, shoving food in childish gobs,
sweating, keeping twenty balls in flight –
this morning, I got up with little sobs,
then crawled back into bed. I’m done with jobs.