Flibbertigibbet, come clean up my yard.
Bring a shovel, a rake, and a mower.
Dig up the thistles and swiftly discard
all the clippings. Plant shrubs that will grow, or
go back to the forest; find somebody who
is undaunted by jungled excess
(like the Jolly Green Giant, I guess.)
Flibbertigibbet, come clean up my room.
Bring a bucket of warm soapy water.
Dust all the shelves with the long-handled plume
of an ostrich and furbish the lot, or
unfasten your cellphone; call somebody who
is an expert to exorcise, bless,
and make order of ungodly mess.
Flibbertigibbet, come clean up my mood.
Bring a trash bin to hold all the clutter.
Knock down the cobwebs and throw out the food
that’s gone moldy. (Leave only the butter.)
If anyone asks, say you’re somebody who
came to dance in a hand-me-down dress
on the tale of a pack-rat’s distress.
1998 Mary Boren