Little Messes Everywhere

A tiny voice calling out,

berating me,

chiding harshly my inaction.

Dirty dishes in heaps,

encrusted with a grimy film -

Friday's lunch.

Garbage teeming, enticing flies who

hover over sweating, smelling piles.

I cannot bring myself to care.

Jars dripping, leaking pungent liquids,

ketchup pools in corners.

Little messes everywhere to clean.

Maybe later.

Neat pawprints tracked across the floor,

overflowing stacks of laundry

pleading to be washed.

Quite when they got so high, I do not know.

Right now I'd rather

sit than

tend to the

upheaval.

Visitors beware, you have been

warned. You will not get a

xenial greeting.

You'd best stay home, and I shall remain

zoned out on the couch.