At Lunch

When I was at lunch,
I sat with a bunch,
of woman who were around,
all wearing a frown.
Some sat and talked,
while others balked.
They complained about home,
all they did was moan:
There was always so much to do,
at home they would stew.
Picking up after another,
was frustrating to the mother.
The conversation arose,
of picking up dirty clothes.
Every time they would turn and blink,
there was dirty dishes in the sink.
I asked a question or two,
of what they could do;
could they change their course,
maybe find a new resource.
They did not want to change,
nor their families to rearrange.
They wanted to stay the same,
and went back the way they came.