This bad-silly poem is in response to a friend’s request. Not the “badness” mind you, but the topic. It’s a fearful subject for lots of moms. The dreaded…the terrible…the pantry.
Open up the door and beware!
Look for ingredients if you dare!
These shelves are high and over full
always disorganized, it’s a house rule!
Cereal to the left, cans to the right
I swear ghosts visit in the middle of the night
to move the bags of pasta and the Tupperware
behind a box of Bisquick and cans of pears.
I try, I do, to organize the space
everything in it’s own neat and tidy place.
with Martha Stewart’s baskets of wicker
and Target plastic with ugly stickers
and mini racks from Bed, Bath & Beyond
and –Forget it! I need Harry Potter’s wand.
“Put it back where you found it!” I beg and I plead.
“You promised, remember? We all agreed.”
Mom is tired, so tired of organizing these shelves
really wish I could just hire those cute Keebler elves.
Maybe if I label the shelves or color code
it would all stay neat, no need for mom to explode.
Then I could find the jam, the mustard, and the spices
Mom would be sooo happy, perhaps even nicer!
And if the honey dribbles down the side of the jar
wipe it off before it sticks like tar.
Tighten the lids, seal the bags Then mom won’t have to nag, nag, nag.
