The Ox and the Crib

Where no oxen are, the crib is clean, but much increase is by the strength of the ox.

With a party coming soon,
I walked outside into the brilliant spring sun,
Looked at the detritus strewn about,
Attempted a desultory pick up,
And avoided a panic attack by going inside
And pretending the great outdoors doesn’t exist.

As I sat in my tidy bedroom,
The only room that I manage to keep clean most days,
I read an article with the heading,
“A clean house is a sign of a wasted life.”
Which is, perhaps, a variation on the proverb
About oxen and manure and how
You don’t have one without the other.

This reminder came at just the right time.
If the boys went away to school,
If Caleb didn’t pull books off the shelf,
If I cooked for only one or two,
The house would stay more clean.
If we hadn’t attempted animal husbandry,
If we hadn’t built a home from scratch,
We wouldn’t now have evidence all over of
Failures and successes.

I stayed in my tidy bedroom, but
The overwhelming feeling of failure
Passed on.