He doesn’t see the crumbs I pick up off the
footstool or the half full glass I empty
then put in the dishwasher.
He doesn’t notice the deflated balloon
that gets its string cut so it can be
tossed in the trash.
He never sees the piles of papers and
magazines arranged and rearranged
on the coffee table.
He is unaware of how the dishes move
from the drainer back to their proper homes.
He thinks the dust bunnies hop their
way onto the broom and then the dust pan.
He believes the pets groom themselves and
help themselves to whatever’s in the fridge.
The truth is we do own a magic wand.
But it, unlike me, is battery operated.