Chill

I want to be chill,

To have time to kill;

Sit back with no stress 

And no need to impress;

Write poems, create—

With no chores on my plate;

Skilled maids in the wings 

To maintain all the things;

No more shelves to dust,

No schedules or musts.

But that's not realistic—

And a bit too simplistic.

One can't skirt all tedium 

But needs a happy medium.

It's tough to balance, it's true—

Not neglect things one must do.

But I'd sure like a maid—I can't lie 

And a "chill" button just standing by.

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart