Washing Pots
Sometimes when I'm washing pots
It drives me round the bend
Big plates little plates knife and forks
They seem to never end.
The plates though are quite easy
You can wash them very quick
But when it comes to greasy pans
They really make me sick.
Why is it when I wash up
I get water every where
And because I'm only three foot two
I stand upon a chair.
Why do I have to wash the pots
I'm only eight years old
My mum heard me moaning
She said do as you are told.
I got a little angry
Splashing water every where
And started mumbling to myself
Washing pots is just not fair.
Copyright © Leon Wilson | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment