spoiled rotten

the trouble

with

going away for a few days

to a nice

resort

in the country, where it's nothing

but peace

and quiet,

good food and greetings

of polite

good mornings,

goodnight,

is that you have to go home again.

after days

of deciding,

shall we have

the lamb chops tonight dear,

with mint jelly,

or the filet mignon?

crepes or eggs Benedict?

you become

spoiled with the

exemplary service 

and French pressed coffee,

delightful drinks and long

walks in the placid

countryside.

but eventually you do have

to go home again

and do laundry,

cut the grass, pay

the bills, reach up

into the cupboard

for a jar of peanut butter

to make dinner.