![]() Feature 16 - July, 2001 What is that you say- a bed wrangler? Well let me tell you about my days It is a hard place to begin Kings, Queens and Twins, even the occasional crib The plains look sparse and dusty When I look around and see --9 dirty cabins full of dirty beds My fingers are sore and calloused from the sheets My back is stiff and my eyes will burn from acres of bright white sheets Bend and pull, and rip and tug and yank the cases off Flip and fold the corners in, Finally the sheets are off But this is only the beginning When saddling up the beds The tumbleweeds start rolling when I spot a stuck hair Blond, black the Occasional red The darned things they sure do cling I wrassle with the strands pulling them off my fingers And watch them slide through the air, To once again thing The struggle is futile and frustration sure does mount When I look for the pillows and count- Less head than I need The cushions are missing and strewn about, What a fine predicament indeed After locating the missing head as eventually I do I look down to realize there's mud on my shoe? Tracking in dirt I stop to access, What products will clean up this mess? Spray a little resolve and wait for it to set I grab my box of cleaning supplies and seek another mess Soap scum in the sink, perhaps a sloppy toilet Send me stains I can avenge I like the people who make a mess-give a stain fighting challenge |
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