“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.” Robert Frost, The Death of the Hired Man
“There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.” Jane Austen
There’s no escaping “home”
I have to go there
And I’m supposed to like it
Him and his dirty plates
Never a hint of gratitude
Piles of laundry
(He never wears things more than once)
He doesn’t know how to use anything
Except the TV
He doesn’t move for hours
He doesn’t even watch anything good
Just junk-vision, garbage, dumbed-down nonsense
I need to unwind after work, is that really too much to ask?
They never seem to sit still
And their needs are never-ending
Meals, snacks, drinks
Help with their toys
With their homework
(Usually nothing more worthwhile than colouring)
They need to be supervised and assisted
While they wash
Clean their teeth
Pull the clothes I’m always repairing on and off
Not this jumper, it’s scratchy, I don’t like it any more
It paces about, panting wetly
Threatening to soil the carpet or the cupboard under the stairs
(Like it’s punishing me for not paying it more attention)
Needs to be walked
Needs to be fed, watered, brushed
Needs to be de-wormed and de-flea-infested
Sheds it’s stinking fur on every piece of upholstery in sight
Rrrrufff rrruff ruff-ruff-ruff-ruff-ruff
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