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 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.

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