Travails of a Home-maker
Travails of a Home maker
It is half past four
When I open the kitchen door,
A whole day's work awaits me
With little time for me to be free.
I switch the kitchen light on,
The time is much before dawn-
More than an hour for the sun
To rise above the far horizon.
As I move towards the sink,
The light goes on a blink
And in the ensuing minute or so,
The bulb loses its bright glow.
Darkness engulfs me and the kitchen,
I stand there totally stricken,
Wondering aloud of my insufferable pain;
I wish for the light soon again.
The UPS is lying dead,
My husband is still in bed,
Children will be up soon,
I am about to swoon.
I find the emergency light
Much to my great delight,
A dim light issues from it,
Sadly the kitchen is not adequately lit.
The sink is full with pots and pans
Jostling with last night's juice cans,
I clean up the whole mess
But it is really a job, I confess.
By then it is time for breakfast
And I have to attend to it fast,
Soon children will be shouting for it,
It should be ready at seven, to wit.
Next comes the turn of lunch box,
No one likes to have food orthodox,
They want noodles and french fries
And outlandish food with lots of spice.
By the time they leave for school,
I am almost at losing my cool,
But my job is not over yet,
For now it's my man's call, I bet.
He wants his dress pressed,
He doesn't realise I am already stressed
With all the work I have done,
Home maker's job is really no fun.
My man shouts for his wallet and mobile,
The last named he needs all the while;
Full of thoughts on those to meet,
He forgets his breakfast to eat.
He hurries without a parting kiss
Which was once a custom of his,
I hear the honking of his car
Which is already very far.
I have to restore the beds to order
Which are in total disorder,
Dirty clothes are to be taken to the 'machine
And later taken out when they are clean.
Hanging them onto the clothesline,
I let them dry in the sunshine,
I bring them back by sunset
Or in rainy season before they get wet.
I can't enjoy a minute's afternoon nap,
For at noon returns the younger chap,
Whose school time is till noon;
As such, no rest for me in the afternoon.
An office-goer gets help in the workplace,
But with me it is not the case,
I work all the time singly and alone
Working my fingers to the bone.
I don't ever get a holiday,
Or overtime or extra pay,
Rest comes only when I fall ill,
Releasing me from the daily drill.
But they want me to be myself again
By which they stand to gain,
The sooner I become fit,
The sooner the chores they can quit.
Who says a home maker's life is easy?
I am on tenterhooks and always busy,
It is nothing but loose talk
When they the home maker mock.