My Dyson

A mom & her vacuum
are a special pair.
So here’s a poem ’bout
my Dyson that I’d like to share.
It’s handle is yellow;
it’s canister is dirty.
Is this what life’s really like
when you’re pushing thirty?
Two little boys keep
this mom awfully busy.
Pushing the vacuum in circles
has made me quite dizzy.
For a short time each day,
my living room’s clean.
I used to dream of a
house spotless and pristine.
Now I’m a realist
& that dream’s far away.
My home is now a haven
for two boys as they play.
It’s finally 9:00 PM
& the pair is asleep:
Time to wipe off the table,
get the broom out, and sweep.
As soon as they’re snoring,
and I know they won’t wake,
the Dyson comes out for goodness sake.
A weight’s off my shoulders;
I know I’ll sleep well.
My floor’s finally clean,
and the house doesn’t smell.
Goodnight dear friends,
I wish you sweet dreams.
Maybe I’ll get a break
when these boys are teens. (HA!)

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