Dishwasher
The dishwasher watches, waits confounded
as knuckles redden and waterlogged fingers
scrub and rub in a slick soapy dance.
Later I will explain to the machine
that it was made by atheists to replace prayer.
Meanwhile bubbles pop their silent hallelujahs.
Hands toil at their holy work.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment