The New(d) Game

She had spent the day in catching up and putting things away,Vacuuming and cleaning in her housework ‘dust ballet’,And in between, the laundry in the small room down the stairs,Washing, drying, folding and then making stocking pairs,When going down the last time; spied the helmet of her son,The one he wore when playing football—making scoring runs,Her arms were full, she placed the helmet snugly on her head,And once she dropped the laundry off, would throw it on his bed.Because this was the last load, she’d include the clothes she wore,And so she stripped them off and dropped each item to the floor,Then, naked, shoved them in the washer; turning at a sound,To behold the wide-eyed meter man (who’d been duty bound),“It’s not too hard to guess,” he said, “If you play ‘shirts’ or ‘skins’!“And Ma'am, though I don’t know this sport, I hope that your team wins!”
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,With poetry, we all besoughtTo try to make the week beginWith pleasant thoughts,Perhaps a grin?So all of us, together, weHave crafted poems for you to see,And now you’ve read what we have wrought…Did we help?Or did we not?
JennyCharlotteMimi