shirt

my shirt reeks of decay
your senses start to reel
you hold your nose in vain
disgust you can't conceal
these pants stand up alone
i wore them for a week
dared to put them on today
now they repel you with their stink

laundry must be done
my stench offends
everything i wear
smells like pits in the end
you can have it all
my big pile of clothes
i will let you wash
you can clean my shirt

i hold my filthy sheets
and at my hamper stare
full of rotting socks
foul beyond compare
beneath the stains of grime
are dribbles from my beer
will you soak this mess
in lemon-fresh Cheer

laundry must be done
my stench offends
everything i wear
smells like pits in the end
you can have it all
my big pile of clothes
i will let you wash
you can clean my shirt

if we could bleach again
the shorts that now are gray
i would soil them all
i would find a way

dish

this is the last plate
of the clean plates
i washed them up
you dirtied them all
piled them up real high
then ran away real far
no sign of you today
last night's squash, you just let it decay
left me day-old pots with dried-on beef stew
now there's nothing more fucked up you could do

dishes from every meal
dishes you never do
dishes where food congeals
in this sink full of goo

i'm the one smelling the mould
you're the one who used all the fucking bowls
no clean glass to fill
26 forks, all grungy as hell
i gotta scrape off your
egg slime, key lime, roast duck, FOOD STUCK
don't think that elves get the dishes done
you owe me, i scrubbed every one

dishes from every meal
dishes you never do
dishes where food congeals
in this sink full of goo

empty dishrack but i want spoons, empty dishrack but i want spoons

dread of the bowl

so scummy, i won't go near it for you
so scummy, i don't care if you want me to
so scummy, let me get out of this stall
so scummy, you can't make me clean this toilet bowl
no you can't make me, no you can't make me
no you can't make me swab up your pee

dread of the bowl, brown as your hole
i'd rather die than touch that commode
bow down before the porcelain god
you streaked it when you dropped your wad

so scummy, i'm looking at your spoor
so scummy, you're not concerned about flushing i am sure
so scummy, i'm not picking up toilet paper that's used
so scummy, i spurn your ooze

dread of the bowl, brown as your hole
i'd rather die than touch that commode
bow down before the porcelain god
you streaked it when you dropped your wad
you know who you are

-- melissa ray