To work early their rooms are a mess,
The Missus has taken control…
Papers all over of what he can’t guess
But file folders laying in rows!
He’s told her it drives him right up the wall,
But she ignores his plea…
Messes and piles make his countenance fall–
So he escapes before things are said,
In anguish of anxiety…
Maybe by the time he comes home from work
Restored will be SANITY!
(Another Hypothetical Poem)