Housework On A Hot One

When does the countdown begin

To fully understand what it takes

To soak floors, to throw open doors

That announce our coming in?

I hate houses with open mouths

And cracked lips. I did not miss this:

The heat, a raging shower,

Forceful against our windows.

Whispering a dull dirge

While lawnmowers blow.

The grass is chipped and salty.

I'm bored as the sticks getting thrown.

So when do the notes quit plunking?

How soon does the day turn blue,

When does the sun bow its strands

To come after you?