Bad poetry

Twas the last day of book fair

And all through my house

There wasn't a thing to eat

Not even for a mouse

The laundry was piled up 

In and near the hampers without care

With hopes that the children

Won't run out of clean underwear

There's mail on the desk

And boxes stacked on the floor

I'll try to finish Christmas decorations next week

And not a minute before

I have 165 unread emails

It's a new record, you see

But if you're waiting for a response

You might want to call me

Now it's Friday

And the weekend is almost here

Book fair closes at 2 pm

And I won't shed a tear

We'll stack them, we'll pack them

We'll count all the cash

Maybe I'll celebrate 

With an end-of-book fair bash

Or I might just go home

And chill in my chair

Wearing jammies and eating pizza

Counting down the days until the next fair