Whew!

Being popular’s a bore
But I’m not in it for the plaudits:
Making money leads to audits.
Lucky me! I’m spared that chore.

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Yardwork

I’ll stand up to stray raccoons
I’ll play your favorite song on spoons
I’ll carve you valentines in runes
But I won’t mow the lawn

The pollen makes my eyelids swell
My alveoli start to gel
I gain a painful sense of smell
Until the hives have gone

The neighbors say their eyes are sore
Complain our curb appeal is poor
But I don’t listen anymore
Because my ears are stuffy

All right, you win, I’ll cut the grass
Then spend the weekend on my ass
Until the histadizzies pass
I hope you like me puffy

One Thing All The Time

Sometimes chores deferred evaporate,
Rewarding sluggards who procrastinate.
Other chores instead metastasize
And bury the recalcitruant past his eyes.
Although I know my preference doesn’t matter,
I prefer the former to the latter.
Failing that, I’ll settle for a task
That waits in stasis. Please? That’s all I ask.

Checkless

I have a list of daily tasks
That I review before I sleep.
They’re rarely done, but no one asks,
So I’ve no promises to keep.
My conscience pricks me ’cause they’re all
Unfinished, but that cricket’s crazy:
He thinks I’m a wooden doll
But I’m a real boy!
I’m just lazy.