before dinner chores

after a grueling hard
physical week of work,
i'd take a trip over the bridge
to visit my mother.
finally saying yes to
the innumerable requests for
dinner. immediately she'd hand
me a list
of chores
there were leaves to rake
before hand,
things to move
about the house,
the king mattress down into
the cellar.
oh and could you
carry in those bags of groceries,
and that new
water heater.
she'd hand me a broom,
the leash to her dog.
give me a dust mop and a
bottle of windex.
I can't reach that window,
the ladder is out back.
oh, and the room needs painting.
and when you're done with
those things,
the oven needs cleaning.
i'd look over at her husband,
sleeping on the couch,
a dead cigar in his mouth
and wonder what's up with that.