Mothers and the Census

THAT'S LIFE: A CENSUS POEM

[Published in the July 2007 edition of Royal Statistical Society News,
London]

He said "Your occupation please",
This census-taking guy.
I started to enumerate
And said quite frankly, "I
Wash the dishes, scrub the floors,
Shine the windows, polish doors,
Bathe three children, wipe their noses,
Work a little in the roses.
Do the washing, iron the clothes,
Pick up playthings, mend the hose,
Sweep out daily, close britches,
Sew a dress with tiny stitches,
Nurse a sick one, make the beds,
Kiss hurt places, shampoo heads,
Wash the blood off, hunt the mittens,
Wipe up after pups and kittens,
Tuck in covers, hear each prayer,
Brag a little, ease a care,
Take your pick. I get no pay,
But that's what I do every day".
He listened very carefully,
That's why I'm so annoyed,
Because that man just scribbled down
'Housewife. Unemployed.'


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