Sunday night and my room is still a mess

remember when your mom made you clean your room on Saturdays
before you could leave for a more interesting life, somewhere else,
anywhere, a ride down the bike path, to the corner store, anywhere,
I need that still
because it's Sunday night and my room is a mess, my clean
clothes are still hanging in the basement for the second week, my bed
is unmade, much less clean sheets, a pile of clothes scattered across
the floor, the bed, it's embarrassing, really, it is.
instead, my skis glided effortlessly across the snow, and
Rhapsody in Blue reverberated through my bones up
in the opera box, I ate cheese and drank wine with friends,
and reluctantly got on the scale in the mornings, but my room
stayed the same, not a single bit of paperwork attended to,
it's a disgrace but nothing changes because my mother doesn't
mind if I go ski on Saturday and Sunday morning, nor does
anyone else for that
matter.