Housewife's Lament

Life’s got to be more than soiled kitchen cabinets,
dirty diapers, runny noses, and endless laundry --
more gourmet than dried spaghetti fragments.
Couldn’t I become another Ghandi?

Since when did my art run to melted crayons,
found on my brand new jeans and best blouse,
while I sort out the cottons from the rayons?
Lord, please change me to John Waterhouse.

My music is the spoon beaten on the baby’s tray,
as my toddler rips up my old poster, “You grok”.
I spend too many hours scouring Ebay,
Why couldn’t I have been born a Bach?

I’ll stick my head in the oven to stop all this rhetoric --
wait, I can’t – my stove’s electric.