Not for the Faint of Heart

A poem about the weekend chores
I’m warning you ahead
This little ditty details
Cleaning out the shed

Why did we save this thing?
What use can it possibly serve?
I’m going to throw it out now
I’m getting up the nerve

Hubby holds up a trowel
Encrusted in who-knows-what
For fear of finding out
I keep my eyes most tightly shut

Two sets of old golf clubs
But honey, I’m confused
Why have we saved those for decades
When they’re never even been used?

And that thinga-ma-jig over there?
Someone gave us at our wedding
I don’t mean to alarm you
But I do believe it’s shedding

Why did I buy this junk?
A full gallon of purple paint
I’m trying to recall the project
But sorry, I really cain’t

That table with a broken leg
The repair was supposed to be easy
But since we’ve misplaced our hammer
The thought of fixing it makes me queasy

Several rolled up rugs
The cat long ago destroyed
Why didn’t we dump these sooner?
Okay, so I’m getting annoyed

But look! We’ve reached our bicycles
Which means we’re almost done
And now with a clear path to the doorway
They might actually see the sun.

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