Dear Mom, I have some information that is rather grave.
I got it in a very urgent call.
The hospital laboratory said I must be brave,
In order to avoid demise and pall.
The doctor on the line said, “I have never seen a list
Of triggers and of risk factors like yours.”
I’ll save you all the details Mum, I’ll just tell you the gist:
He’s said that I’ve got allergies. To chores.
“No dishes,” he commanded. “No laundry,” he prescribed.
I’m sure you’ll see that this affliction stinks.
“No vacuuming,” I promised. “No mops,” I sadly sighed.
“No cleaning up of toilets or of sinks.”
I know the outlook’s dreadful, whatever shall we do?
I’ll miss the mowing, polishing, the broom.
I ‘spose that’s it for me, Mum, I’m feeling extra blue,
You’ll find me watching TV in my room.