Sitting there, accumulating space,
one can see my pile of waste.
Molded up, covered in grime,
I’ve lost all semblance of time.
Yet in an hour, those turquoise towels
will be folded- no longer can
I blame this on co-vid.
Though at my core, this is unlike me
to leave my space so unsightly.
Vacuuming, and a prompt sweep
of the broom, will alleviate
this sense of doom.
Turn on a light- use foresight
and avail yourself to
the Sense of Sight.
How did this happen, what did I do?
Oh boy, there’s that stick of glue.
Amissed in mess, arising stress,
Maybe I should start leaving my desk.
