I stumble on mismatched pairs of shoes and hit
the coat hanger dressed in eight layers.
The army of handbags sulks in the corner
as I throw my rucksack on top of them.
I call a salad cooking
and boil water strictly for coffee.
The fridge shelters butter and ketchup.
Sometimes I buy bread.
I make the bed just to find my socks
or the notes I made the night before.
For some reason pens and papers like to play
hide and seek under the covers.
I will never be your perfect wife.
Though dust has no chance
as I can’t stand my sneezing.
I’m just saying,
don’t leave your undies around.
I hate mess.
D in the A to Z challenge