Poetry / doing dishes
“doing dishes”
dried spaghetti on a
black plate; scrape
the entrail mess like you would
a dead rabbit off the road
or the film from your eyes.
circling, circling
the suds eat the grime;
it reminds you of a clock.
how long have you been sinking,
bacon-grease-fingered,
wandering in one place?
you know by heart the sound
of key forced into lock,
so when you hear it
you will jet dry your streaks
just in time
to sparkle up at him,
plated and lemon-fresh.
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I nice easy poem to read.
Will make my chore easier tonight. :)
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April 13, 2006
Deleted User
I absolutely love this. Comparisons of a simple task of “doing the dishes” and then of how you present yourself:
“to sparkle up at him,
plated and lemon-fresh.”
One can look at it either from the stand point of a person washing themself clean, like forgiveness…or a stand point of the routines that are set through out the day and for whom, that other person. And perhaps your view of how you see yourself, none other than a product.
Inside you may be a wonderer, perhaps you are saddened, or feel trapped. And the one thing consistancy preventing freedom, is when the key turns in that lock…and once again you must put on that facade (a brilliant smile). ..
Nice Work…i look forward to reading more.
Haha! I can relate. I believe the initial description is too morbid for the general mood of the rest of the poem (“scrape
the entrail mess like you would
a dead rabbit off the road”)
, though the intent of contrast does work, despite the fact that it could have been lighter. The general air of the poem is somewhat bland, because of the general normality of what is being exposed, still, the use of imagery refreshes the senses quite accurately to the reality of what is happening.
“how long have you been sinking,
bacon-grease-fingered,
wandering in one place?”
Is a beautifully subtle way to express her anticipation.
Perhaps the descriptions could have been more vivid or attractive to the senses. It carries much wit in its portrayal of something so routinic. “to sparkle up at him,
plated and lemon-fresh.”
The scent of the dish soap is appreciated.
I liked the undertones of desperation and monotony in the banal life of the home-maker. I see it radiating out into her whole existance yet oblivious to the one she loves with a “lemon-fresh” polish of satisfaction.
I enjoyed this poem.
It felt like I was peaking through a window into someone’s secret. I’m not exactly sure why. It maybe the comparison between the “bacon-grease-fingered” and the “lemon-fresh”
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