Yesterday’s dishes I won’t put away
         though they’re thoroughly dry in the rack
For I know they’ll demolish the mood of the day
         if I should start putting them back.

No matter how gently I place them in piles
         the plates will not quietly go;
They are being imprisoned without a fair trial
         and they want the whole household to know.

The cups and the saucers demanding their rights
         in protest will shout loud and clear.
“Though melmac and styrofoam keep out of sight,
         we’re china, we’re proud and we’re here.”

The glasses, for their part, are sneaky today;
         these girlish sopranos conspire.
If I take two or three to the cabinet, then they
         will become a boisterous bell choir.

I take hold of a knife or a fork or a spoon
         and regardless how much I implore,
It insists on clanging objection as soon
         as I lower it into the drawer.

The casserole covers, when put on the shelves,
         continue complaining. I’m sure
That the pots and the pans consider themselves
         percussion for some overture.

If I can preserve for this little while
         some peace, then I’m going to try.
So instead of getting the dishes all riled,
         I elect to let sleeping bowls lie.


From Celebrations (CreateSpace, 2014).
Used with the author’s permission.