Crumpled, grubby from a day of paint and play.
Clammy, worn from a day of work and strain.
And yet –
The daily chore is mine.
Sweaty socks swarm to my room
Tights fall short on the stair
Pants pool about the basket
Shirts lurk within
I sleep and dream in the shadow of a laundry mountain.
So I stoop to sort the midden
Light from dark, plain from fine.
Gloom gathers, great drops spatter glass.
Beyond the pane, the world glistens.
But I must scale the humdrum heights,
Toil to the impossible top,
Picture the summit, clean and neat.
I’ll quit the climb
I’ll venture out
Dust off my hopes
Tend to my dreams.
© Gillian Munro April 2015