"scrubber" poems
Asian toilet scrubber girl
I love her
She all brown tan and smelly
I will be happy to kiss on her belly
Nasty thing with hunger in her tummy
I will feed her all I have
She don't know where ugly Beverly hill is
Her ****** is my friend
Soft wet and wild
Child of Asia farm
What a charming doll
Scrubs toilet bowl for a bowl of rice
How nice
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
I voyaged through pink-bubble oceans
filled my nose with peppermint-sea air
spotted a sudsy blue whale
I fought through shampoo-froth rapids
with my trusty back-scrubber oar
spotted floundering soap-bottle salmon
I floated on spicy still-waters
wash-cloth water-weeds tickling feet
spotted a squawking rubber duck
I sat in chilly bath-water
scents long faded into nothing
spotted an old bobbing sponge.
Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 11:22 AM UTC
It's the same all the time:
You go to the table you pick up the glasses and trash
You throw away the garbage and dump out the ***** glasses
You push the glasses on the scrubber and twist them and turn them until there is no dirt
You rinse off the soap and then you put them in the scalding hot blue chemical water and stack them in twos
You start again but this time you do two at a time and you scrub
You push two on the scrubber you twist and you turn them and get all their stains off
you rinse away the cleaner and drown them in sanitizer and stack them next to glasses the same
You finally reach that last glass with cream and grime to the brim
You go to scrub this glass and push it onto the scrubber
As you scrub the water is turning milky white and brown
you keep scrubbing but it won't get clean
maybe it needs a rinse
you hurridly put it in the second bath of water but that only gets it *****
maybe if you sanitize it, it may finally be clean
you put the crusted glass in the blue water and your hands burn and bleed
you turn away to nurse your hands but there's one problem.
*the glass isn't clean
it won't be cleaned
it's broken now because I tried to fix it*
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
dawn light
silhouettes the branches
dried leaves clatter
on the rooves and driveway
cardinal song
pierces the highway thrum
behind the rotting fence
a dog sniffs, whines and growls
the swimming pool scrubber
splashes and sinks with a shudder
one after the other descending planes
roar and then fade away
even in this labyrinth
of suburban sameness
everything is emerging
declaring itself
and then slipping away
like the feral cat
one moment
eyes locked on mine
next moment
disappearing behind the garage
Tom Spencer © 2018
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
what's there to write about
a floor scrubber?
in the sun on my shoulder
its light plastic touch
polythene wrapper
gaily fluttering in the wind
breathing its last light of freedom
before consigned to lifelong prison
standing damp dreaming to dry
but for that fleeting time
it rests on my shoulder
comforted on flesh and bone
on the brief journey
from the shop to a nook
enjoying the glances of passerby
curious my carrying it
a hint of boast in my gait
flaunting as if a magic wand
the floor scrubber transient yet eternal
a glorious poem material
a poem name
and a man's declaration
*there's no shame
doing your work
your way*.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
O, the fun, the fun and frolic
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
Kate the scrubber (forty summers,
Stout but sportive) treads a measure,
Grinning, in herself a ballet,
Fixed as fate upon her audience.
Stumps are shaking, crutch-supported;
Splinted fingers tap the rhythm;
And a head all helmed with plasters
Wags a measured approbation.
Of their mattress-life oblivious,
All the patients, brisk and cheerful,
Are encouraging the dancer,
And applauding the musician.
Dim the gas-lights in the output
Of so many ardent smokers,
Full of shadow lurch the corners,
And the doctor peeps and passes.
There are, maybe, some suspicions
Of an alcoholic presence . . .
'Tak' a sup of this, my wumman!' . . .
New Year comes but once a twelvemonth.
1.3k
She's tall and gaunt, and in her hard, sad face
With flashes of the old fun's animation
There lowers the fixed and peevish resignation
Bred of a past where troubles came apace.
She tells me that her husband, ere he died,
Saw seven of their children pass away,
And never knew the little lass at play
Out on the green, in whom he's deified.
Her kin dispersed, her friends forgot and gone,
All simple faith her honest Irish mind,
Scolding her spoiled young saint, she labours on:
Telling her dreams, taking her patients' part,
Trailing her coat sometimes: and you shall find
No rougher, quainter speech, nor kinder heart.
1.2k
*designated washer, scrubber,
some dirt, brown burnt fire marks,
impervious to edgy pads, now,
aged into the very being of our
cooking hardware
can only be removed
by human fingernail
as I scrape away residues of years gone by,
mine tears amalgamate in the soapy waters
beneath my bent head
for I cannot remiss/remove
the oldest, burnt,
bottom of the pan,
stains between us,
not with embraces,
nor with whimsy recollections,
certainly not with our
fingernails...*
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
those who like to clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning?
are you really scrubbing?
Did you find something worth scrubbing?
Was it a love letter, a ****** an incriminating photo, was it drugs? was it nothing to you but the world to someone else?
Did you clean the love letter by shredding it or throwing it in the trash? Did you save the ****** in a plastic bag?
Wonders of what you did with the photo
And the drugs, well we all know what that you smoked-- i mean cleaned
When you were finished, did you tell the person what you did? Or let them come home to a place where everything was rearranged and scrubbed.
Did you notice when they ignored you and didn't thank you for your cleaning services?
I wonder often what satisfies a scrubber. Is it the control you get from knowing all you can know about a person? Is it the feeling you get when you've finished scrubbing all the dirt off?
I wonder often what satisfies a cleaner. Is it the notion that you're bettering someones life when you've just erased the whole of them? Is it the thought that when you put them in new clothes, they shine.
Do you think you are making them the image of what you've scrubbed?
those who clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning and are you really scrubbing?
I think that you are.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
I finally got to reading today,
You know,
The "Big Book"
The one with the books, and the verses
And the words inspired
That one
And I read through James
Realized I need to clean my tongue with more than a tongue-scrubber
And I started reading Jeremiah;
I felt this overwhelming urge to write.
To just, spill a couple letters, here and there, on paper
I'm here now
I'm trying
I'm here now
And I see
I've been crumbling under bitterness
Anger, resentment
misanthropy
[oooh, big words]
And I've realized a couple of things
That I really need to work on, moving forward
Welcome to adulthood, son.
Your Father will see you now.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
boy spotless, wrecker of the invisible home. oh mother, scrubber of the radar’s blip.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC