Not Enough Tasks

 Why did I always have to empty the thunder mug?
 Wasn't there more than I using this jug?
 And my dad's spittoon that reeks of chew,
 couldn't one of my brothers have emptied it, too.
 And I carried in each day seven buckets of stoker coal,
 it wasn't for just me, it warmed other souls.
 Yes, I emptied the ashes that made our sidewalk,
 for a path to the outhouse that all of us walked.
 I carried in water to warm for a bath in a washtub,
 I was always the last to bathe after the others did scrub.
 I was stuck weeding a garden while my brothers did play,
 Seemed the more I pulled, there were even more the next day.
 Everyone would hunt and fish when it was time,
 yet it seemed like cleaning everything was a task all of mine.
 Yes, and the dishes, I did them too.
 There wasn't much at my home I did not do.
 When I was young and did these things that I didn't understand,
 they have helped me grow up to be a well-rounded man.
 As I look back and see an empty lot where my home used to be,
 I wish it was still there with even more tasks for me.
 Stanley Victor Paskavich Stantasyland