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ogdiddynash Jan 1
I am the dishwasher man.
a responsible handyman needs good tools,
given pots and pans to scrub with burnt black stains,
not of mine making, even more infuriating,
of twenty ++ years of prior Duration.
(definitely deserving of a capital D)

went to the supermarket seeking vision,
guidance and a variety of choices,
for a product specific,
not Made in China,
lest we purposely allow
ourselves to be poisoned,
so purchased a Scotch-Brite
*** scrubbing brush
of hecho mexicano origin

Now I stare at the Amazon screen,
undecided how many replacement
brush heads I should acquire,
the cheapest unit price is for a box of 1000,
which no smart store of
intelligent repute would ever carry,
(cause you would never come back)
and which if I actually use up,
an even steven 1000,
it means  I’ll be
scrubbing pots
from on high.

but my awe for genius wisdom
is further esteemed,
as they say of it,
Amazon,
makes you buy
mostly what you don’t need,
very cheaply
or
“each according to his own stupidity.”
June 2020
if i get the job
as a dishwasher
at the cafe or
the nursing home

i might get my
weirdly
tragically beautiful
cinderella story
after all
Whisper,
on the surface of the crockery
the fairy porcelain
and Satie's piano.
Rinse
unconfessed wishes
and, among the cutlery,
I say goodbye
to Gymnopédie.
There is always an air of water
in the words that tell me
when the morning ends
and in the brightness of the dishes,
the same colour
of sorrow.
A poem by my friend Everardo that I translated into English. I love how he sees so much beauty in the most mundane things.
Liz Apr 2014
I love the quick ***** of china cutlery when I close the plastic dishwasher

And the comforting sizzle
of the butter, which sun bursts
in the pan, as you are frying our dinner.

I love the way you say 'Nah'
and the way
my heart's pace 
Increases at your sight.

I love the way the steamy light
makes shapes and shadows
on your face
as we lie together on grass.

I love the slam
of the front door after a rain day
and the lock
of our eyes
in the hall way.

I love mundane high croak 
of the curtains
when I peal
them back as if I am 
opening my eyes 
for the first time. 

Opening to see you;
China cutlery, 
butter,
my steamy light, 
and rain.

— The End —