By Request

My husband loved the before christmas poem about losing my shoes and has now requested that I write about my office…so take it up with him.

Clean it up, and find your shoes,
my helpful husband offers.
He is not aware of what he asks,
it’s here I fill my coffers.

Although the floor is piled high
with music, books and papers,
in this space that’s mine alone,
I work on all my capers.

My room is roughly 10 x 12
with overflowing shelves,
I don’t know how the work gets done,
it must be all those elves.

Van Gogh, Kandinsky, and Picasso
hang on butterscotch walls.
A four-line phone atop my desk,
it’s here I field the calls.

No office furniture in my room,
I much prefer a den.
It’s such a mess, oh can’t you guess,
I’ll never find my pen.

Notebooks and file folders
cascade on a serving cart.
I can’t keep track of all there is,
I’ll have to make a chart.

My desk an oblong dining table,
belonged to my grandmother.
It’s piled high with reference books
and so I need another.

From great Aunts Hattie and Tillie
comes my oval dining table.
It’s here I sit and window watch
whenever I am able.

I’ll never find my shoes or keys,
as much you might suspect.
Don’t give me that look, i’m writing three books,
what else do you expect?

“It’s very clear, it’s a disaster my dear.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh.
“If you clean it all up, you might be in luck.”
“Okay, well maybe I’ll try.”

One thought on “By Request”

  1. oh, this is absolutely hysterical! it would suit me if these poems kept on indefinitely!

    what a surprise to learn that you easily wear yet another hat – that of a poet!! your head should at least be about five feet by five feet by now!

    please keep these little funny gems coming! would you be surprised to learn that i relate to your situation very strongly?!?

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