I don't want to sweep the floor any more
I don't want to sweep the floor anymore
I must have swept it 10 times today
I don't want to sweep the floor anymore.

It's dull, monotonous, dreary, drab
irksome, humdrum, nut-dummin' banal.
I havna nothing ‘gainst sweeping per se
I quite like it actually.
But to do it quite as much as I do
steals my intellect, vibrancy, my derring-do -
I wager it would steal yours too.

ENNUI
The tedium of R e p e t i t i on
day in day in again
Shall I say it again?
R e p e t i t i o n day in day in again.
R E P E T I T I O N tition re Tit Ion Tit Tit Tit ion.
Shall I say it again?

Annoying isn't it?

That's what I feel like about the floor.

O the dishes too and the shopping,
the cleaning,
the tidying
the washing
Everest of Washing
the sewin', the sortin', the binnin',  
the hanging o' clothes to dry again
folding them once more
pairin' the socks
seekin' space in drawers
an' wunnerin' ‘Shit, how to detox this LOT?’
And when I think I've done it aw
Boo hoo No Luck
- it’s to do aw over when I look up.

The cookin'
The cookin' 
The COOKin'!
The filin' o' plates in the machine
that washes them clean
until they're dirty aw over agin!
The Dinner Breakfast Snacks
the Lunches packed,
shoppin' again, the sweeping, the SWEEPING
the guilt I'm chucking stuff oot we should be EATIN'!
Evidently I'm no employing The Brain
I should be using
to be choosing
to do things
BETTER.

Regurgitate an' spew it oot!
Clean it up, aw that muck!
For do you know it’s what I do
'lang wi billion other wummen too?
Day in day oot, shakin' oor brains aboot,
sloosh oot, OOT our Ears!
BRAINS spill through drains
ratatat on pot an' pans
splatter stairs, squirt the sink
plop plop in stew, the bin too, the cat food,
spew atop the grimy floor,
doon the grubby uncleaned Loo...

Oh Sisyphus I am not
heavin' a rock
up hill
til
it tumbles in punishin' cycle.
Nor Prometheus.
My liver is intact, not ramshed, re-growed an' ramshed once mair
by Eagle beak an' hungry claw.
Not Tantalus I
foriver tantalised,
nor Ixion spun in perpetuity
on flaming wheel …whit destiny!
Alas, Mythical status is not afforded Wummen's Daily Chores.
No tale will be wrote o' bakin' a pie,
stitchin' a rip, plumpin' a pillow
sloppin' wairm milk intil mashed potato -
though certes it's mythical in its endlessness, ness, ness
indeed I empathise wi' Sisyphus...
Forsooth, I do not suffer like them ancient souls above,
I do not bleed or burn.
I’m just fed up o' sweepin' the floor
I’ve done it so many times afore
I don't want to do it anymore.
I don’t want to do it again.