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Poem

My identical twin and I have little in common, yet we have this one thing.
In order to start cleaning we have to watch Hoarders, a TV show with zing.
It shows women whose houses are cluttered with debris, garbage and poop.
It makes us want to clean, weirdly enough, until we contract the croup.

We watch it in April, when others are opening their windows for air.
I challenge you to watch it, but must warn you, for it is only fair….
You might retch and vomit, you might get sickly and turn green.
As for my sister and I, this horrible show makes us finally want to clean.

I start with a bit of sorting, but then get tired and start tossing away.
My husband runs in screeching “wait a second! Hey! Hey!”
“Those are our taxes, your W-2’s and other stuff we need!”
I do not care, my throwing-away self is now moving with speed.

Don’t just throw things away willy-nilly, he says, bringing back junk.
Stuff he has found in sixteen bags of garbage, all covered with gunk.
My spring cleaning would be so much easier if he would run away.
With the mustached lady from the circus, for what I now pray.

It is your fault this place is a mess, I say, mean as a snake.
He rolls his eyes and cuts himself a piece of chocolate cake.
I see this and stop cleaning, now hungrier than I thought I could be.
I add some ice cream too, and sit down to watch Hoarders on TV.

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