It’s a funny word is housewife
Like I’m wedded to my house
As if we pledged in public one to the other
Much as I did my spouse
If houses could choose wives, though
I’m not sure I’d be who they’d pick
I’d be blue without my white goods
I think domesticity a patriarchal trick
To that end I offer up my thanks
To all the inventors of appliances
My friendship with my dishwasher
Is the most vital of alliances
I do a bit of housework
Although we might differ over meaning
I think blowing dust from things as you walk by
Can be classed as cleaning
I’m not the kind of person
Who thrives on homely bliss
If there’s a choice I’d really rather
Spend my time writing stuff like this
There are things I love about my house
There are also some I hate
Which, when you think about it,
Is not a bad description of my mate
But it’s more steadfast than many humans
More welcoming than my cat
The thing is, with my house,
I always know where it is at
While I’m never going to be its partner
I do hold this building dear
Most of all because I know
Who I am when I am here
