Why Housewives Don't Write Good Poetry

Set aside for the moment Anne Sexton.  She was a terrible housewife, by all accounts, and a great poet much of the time.

Housewifey duties don't seem to bring out the poet in me.  Who wants to read about the applesauce I cleaned out of the fridge?  Maybe an Adam & Eve metaphor thrown in there?  Nope.  Me either.  I don't even want to THINK about what it would take to write that sort of poem.

It's similar to when I was in early grad school and was really pretty darn happy & only wrote poems about writing poems, which defined narcissism & solipsism and a few other isms about self-love (and not even the interesting and infinitely more poetic kind of self love, hubba hubba wink wink nudge nudge). 

And frankly, even I am kind of bored by this post.  I really need to get a good book to read.