Housework a poem by Linda Carpenter   I can't get the thought of you out of my crotch at silly times of the day she moves down there some kind of earthquake small enough  but noted on the Richter scale  waking sleepers jiggling china   at silly times vacuuming or doing dishes I think of soap and suddenly you're that clean pair of underwear rubbing even the bird notes something wolf whistling at me between sunflower seeds