Dishwater

Potato kisses grow deep in the kitchen sink.

I like the dirty spoon near the drain,

covered in rust

and earth.

It lays proudly near wilted dishes and

cracked plants.

Roots shrivel in the cloudy water.

Where is the sponge, the soap, the sun?

Who will clean up this domestic

wasteland?

Give me toothpaste grins.

Give me

starlight cheerios,

teddy bear nights,

blinding, feathered mornings.

Give it all, every drop, every bowlful.

I want everything.

Everything

but the kitchen sink.

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