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ZONED OUT

Spring cleanup elicits a groan,
As our mother gives each a yard zone.
She passes out rakes,
Mid our belly-aches,
Then goes in to answer the phone.

Such chores are a yearly remake,
A dirty job, for pity's sake!
A Saturday gone
To fix up the lawn,
With garden work; gimme a break!

But all of us do what we must;
We stir up the leaves and the dust
To fill up each bag,
Or parents will nag,
And social lives will be a bust.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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