Reluctance Both Ways

 

 

There he goes, the mower moving free
as he sweats and mutters in full sun,
making the most of moods - there’ll be tea
once the bloody chore is done

to a turn for another week. Glowering now,
he swoops across the lawn’s last scrap,
missing the edges; it’s more than I’d allow.
He needs tea now, so springs his trap –

me steeping it or not! I’d like to fling
a brew at him, the guilt-tripping sod,
but squash the fantasy and drily sing
out, “Yes.” He’d try the patience of God!