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

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