Cleaning Day

 

One day a week the house gets clean
It’s called the Saturday routine.
We execute our careful plan
To get as close to spick and span
As can be done when short of time
For getting shot of filth and grime.
The problem is our canine beast
Who is no help, to say the least.
A joy in every other way
She simply must be kept at bay
When Mr Dyson’s fine machine
Is used in our attempt to clean
Domestic floors of dirt and dust.
You see, you simply cannot trust
That, spurred by its persistent drone,
She will not treat it like a bone
That must be grabbed, and, what is more,
She’ll even lift it off the floor.
When she’s around, a task like this
Will always be less hit than miss.
It takes an age, need I mention,
If the task has dog’s attention.
And that’s why Sue, my lovely wife,
Does what she can to make my life
Easier far, without more talk,
By taking doggy for a walk.
About two hours is what I need
To give due credit to the deed.
But on that day the rain was such
She simply couldn’t grant that much.
“This is not a passing shower,
We’ll be gone for just an hour”.
And off they went, a bit less keen
Than what is regularly seen –
The pair seemed equally averse,
Both seemed to fear it might get worse.
(The way we work this, by the by,
At least means my good self stays dry).
But now I had – it’s not much fun -
To get two hours’ work done in one.
The downstairs rooms are always first
Their muddy tiles, of course, are worst.
The furniture is moved aside
So no unwanted dirt can hide.
The Dyson sucks up what is loose
And then the steamer’s put to use.
When all is shifted once again,
The other half is treated, then
The room’s restored to how it was.
The work goes faster next, because
The other rooms have carpets, so
The task is nothing like as slow.
That day, ‘bout which this tale is told,
Was going well, I make so bold
To state I reckoned I could crack
The lot before dear dog came back.
Upstairs, not much was left to do,
Just bedrooms, office, bathroom, loo.
The final task would be the stairs
After which, no further cares.
A maxim you must never shirk
Is, when you have a lot of work,
Less speed results from excess haste,
But if you have no time to waste
Common sense through window flies
And deeds become more dumb than wise.
So that is why that morning, when
I went to clean my office den,
(I should have taken lots more care)
I roughly pushed aside my chair.
The table corner that it bumped
Was where I thoughtlessly had dumped
A ton of interesting stuff -
As if I did not have enough -
For which no shelf space could be found
Thus forming an unstable mound.
But gravity then took its course
(A somewhat overrated force).
I should have known, for ill or good,
The merest, slightest, knock just would
Precipitate an avalanche,
Depositing thereby a tranche,
A heap, exactly as it looks,
Of unread mags and unsold books.
I rushed the job, I must confess,
Resulting in a lot more mess.
I then did something just as naff –
A stupid time-consuming gaffe –
I took a photo of the scene,
The very one that’s on this screen,
I thought I’d have a tale to tell
That I could write, if all went well.
I quite forgot, was unawares,
I hadn’t finished with the stairs.
Instead, with office aids in sight,
I stopped the task, began to write,
And then the sound – I’m sure I swore –
Of someone opening our back door.
Oh dear – of course my hour was up
And back came Sue and former pup.
The latter, wet with muddy paws,
Was overjoyed to be indoors.
I ran downstairs to greet the pair
And hear whatever Sue might care
To tell of what the two had seen
While I was getting homestead clean.
But that was when I had a shock -
My efforts, racing ‘gainst the clock,
I saw were plainly up the spout
Of that there was no likely doubt.
Dog, as soon as she was able,
Gave us an Augean Stable.
The muck from up to three miles wide
Had been deposited inside.
Worse than prior to when I’d started,
Mud, not there before we parted,
Was coating every kitchen tile -
I found it hard to force a smile.
With further shakes of sodden hair
More globs of grime were plastered where
They joined, to make the scene complete,
The fall-off from her filthy feet.
Those paws were all it took to spoil
The fruits of muggins’s strain and toil.
You take a deep breath, count to ten -
In seven days’ time you try again.

© John Welford