-rage

my hands shake
like the nervous tremulo of a flute
as i attempt to scrub
time-hardened food
from the chipped, mis-matched dishes
that teeter in their
utensil crazed stacks.

the growl of a bass cello
accompanies my unfriendly thoughts.
this isn't the first time
it won't be the last
all from one lazy housemate
who can't seem to find
dish-washing
in her repertoire.

Back to the Poetry Page