Jif

I am on my knees on the bathmat
Scrubbing the toilet bowl
With Jif,  “with microparticles.
For maximum cleaning and minimum scrubbing.”

Modest Jif, my labour- saving  maid,
Standing in her stiff long dress.
I pay for her with cash,
And probably with all of living nature.

She can be a flirtatious lover
Playing the mixed message game:
“Unique creamy ingredients,” as well as
“If swallowed, remove from mouth.”

Then again her motherly low expectations
Protect me from exhaustion and perfectionism:
“Avoid prolonged rubbing on a single spot.”

Jif , my guru, is cleverer than I.
She “solves really tough cleaning problems.”
Was there ever a woman who  solved  problems
While kneeling, scrubbing the toilet bowl?

My problem  today is the missing sock –
Tiny, black, with skeletons on it,
Rather than the Pacific gyre,
Microparticles in albatross chicks,
Or the volcano’s increasing fire.

Oh Jif, with your teasing language
So full of possibility and care,
Responsive to the gentlest squeeze,
Solve all my problems. 

Think for me, please.

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3 thoughts on “Jif

  1. Love it. Your words, (not Jif) …on the other hand, were it not for that environmental enemy, the poem would not exist … And Jif , via your exquisite use of language, is now prompting me to plan her demise & replacement – (Ecostore I think … a small NZ outfit too!).

    1. Hi Radar. Thank you for that. I will check out Ecostore or maybe just baking soda will do. But it’s that nun-shaped container that resonates so strongly… We live in a world where packaging is more important than the function of the contents of the package! Another lunacy of our little world!

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