Common House Magazine

The people are coming. Be quick, get ready.

Wash the tiles in the kitchen, down on your knees

Rub between the crevices, make the cracks glisten

Stay in that position, though you’ll never be pleased.

The people are coming. Make haste, now the carpets.

Vacuum where it reaches, and broom where it’s short.

Like my mother taught me, and her mother before her,

The act of cleaning is a competitive sport.

The people are coming. Wipe all the windows.

Get the wax paper out, don’t you dare leave any streaks.

Get the mirrors too, but avoid your reflection,

A shaken complexion is not pleasing to see.

The people are coming. Did you not hear me?

Tidy the living room, the alcoves, the sun-spoken den,

Straighten the fireplace, the frames on the mantel,

Your brothers wouldn’t know. This is not the work of men.

When people walk in, you want their admiration.

The house radiating clean, down to the smell.

And just like the house, you are a presentation,

You are a woman. In all, you must excel.

The people are coming. Pluck out your hair.

Curl it, then style it, then spray it to stay.

Paint your nails, paint your face, and make sure that you’re smiling.

The people will appreciate this beautiful display.

And when the people come, greet them with affection.

Usher them inside, take their coats, get their drink.

When they compliment the house, dispel their reflections.

“This was nothing,” you’ll say. It just took me all day.

And with the people now here, all the visitors come.

The men turn to the living room. The women–the kitchen.

And though the disastrous work of dinner has begun,

You’ll all work together, like your mothers would have done.