Why do I gotta do homework,
Why do I gotta do chores,
Why do I gotta do what you ask,
Why do I gotta? I’m bored.
Voice of children all ask this,
But, owning up here, it’s me!
Why do I gotta do stuff that is pressing?
I’d rather be writing for free!
Stew’s bubbling away as I write this,
Tatties all peeled for the pot,
Uniforms ready to start back,
Doing stuff I’d rather not.
It’s terrible, this strange obsession
That has me right by the throat,
Throttling desire from everything else,
Pulling priorities apart.
Sod it! The tatties are pending,
Rumblings are heard all around,
Dinner is just one more distraction
From computer keys I’d rather pound.
It’s really too bad this fixation,
Doesn’t pay any bills,
I’d be working at what needs no encouragement, though
The fridge would be empty – they’d kill!
I’m really a part of the problem,
Well maybe the whole of it – they’re vexed –
Nought can compare to the feelings I get
While writing – well, maybe, sex!
But I can’t do that when I’m cooking,
Certainly not when the kids are around,
So writing it is – it’s orgasmic
And I don’t even make a sound.
So, yeah, I gotta make dinners,
I gotta get chores all done,
Gotta to do homework but then, oh boy,
I’m gonna have me some fun.
I mean writing.
Get your heads outta the gutter!
Tatties are boiled. 🙂