On My Pedestal

Tired, feeling out of zing, the sack I must hit
The decorator will be bright and early, mustn't wait
A week of upheaval, which I must say I abhor,
Before the weeks out I'll be pulling out my hair.  

Patience is a word I recognize not
A ratbag, at times that's me,
Waiting for silence, to descending upon me
Music much too loud & I in despair he's as deaf as can be. 

Naff of, why doesn't he go & make his chamomile tea
Just leaving me in peace ...to do a bit of writing
Think I can not whilst he's faffing with his paper
Why waiting for me, just go to bed you see 

Aren't you coming to bed tonight says he
An exasperated look I throw him my patience running
The man of the house, I am tired of being
What kind of baby is he cant go to bed without me!

Trying to keep control, on my explosive nature
Or they'll be fireworks I'll explode...volcanic like
A few expletives from me if you don't just naff off & let me be!
At last silence permeates, oh sweet peace, exudes within me  

Silence is golden, even the birds have gone to sleep
Without interruptions my brain, at last, can think,
His slave he thinks I am, won't you get me this that or the other                                                         God gave you hands and feet don't you know!....    

Why don't you use them why on the little woman depending...
You'll benefit, you know even feel proud...                                                                               Jacqueline of all trades she's tired of it, on my pedestal, I'd like to be.                                                 Falling, of my perch, am tired, won't you say?     

                            
                                     By Connie James