After the lights go out
and I've to bed, snoring away,
the Snodgers, says my husband,
it's the Snodgers come out to play.
They forget to turn off the TV
and leave milk cartons open on the shelf.
I ask, how do they handle the 'frig door?
That he's never seen, himself.
But magic clings to their elbows
and to their knobbly-kneed toes.
Perhaps the appliance winks its light on
before obligingly opening its door.
They sample all leftover puddings
and nibble the crust off the pie,
then finish the entire thing off
rather than leave the filling to dry.
They rinse any dirty dishes
and wipe the counter twice, aye
for ours are neat and tidy Snodgers.
They have class, Dan says, unlike I.
May Kuroiwa
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As per Maggie’s and May’s instructions
ReplyDeleteI am working hard writing a poem a day for Poetry Month
while being creative in the kitchen
while pacing rooms slapping words on a page
returning to the kitchen—Oh dear—
Maggie, May I have a job for you!
Peter Goodwin