Undone

This is the house of chores undone
The kingdom of cluttered intent

Where I toil without progress
Up and down the stairs

Through closets and drawers
Of excess, where we hide

What offends the irritable eye
A scrambled profusion of parts

Unused, whether needed or not
In a bookcase or swing

Still here or long gone
From our domestic castle

Of clenched jaw and glare
The turrets of temper

Piled stone upon stone
Mortared with what we didn’t do

For each other, or ourselves
With what we didn’t discard

In time, simply stored it aside
To stutter free in some later war

All the doors flung open
And cabinets exposed

Spilling the bobbins and bolts
Of our careless disrepair

Underfoot, a bitter shambled state
Of grace, because we stay

To sweep it up again, and say
A house cannot keep us undone