Chores

Would you come and help weed my garden?
It’s long overgrown from neglect.
Where once bloomed a row of petunias,
Weeds now stand in clumps circumspect.

And maybe you’d clean out my closet.
My clothes aren’t in style anymore.
What once draped a man in his forties,
Now hides in the dark behind doors.

And maybe you’d fill up my pantry.
It once brimmed with wonderful fare.
I no longer open that door much,
It pains me to see it so bare.

I know that my kitchen is lacking,
In tools that bring meals to life.
I mostly eat out now in restaurants,
Alone midst the husbands and wives.

It’s hard for a man in his sixties,
Left with reflections and thoughts,
To share his emotions and feelings—
To let down his guard and get caught.

So let’s just forget that I asked you.
I’m sure that you have other plans.
If this sort of thing were you’re calling,
You’d already be with a man.

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