Unwashed

Rumbles of boredom lead the mouth to eat but then there are the unwashed, the residue of the crumbling and smeared. Greasy utensils sneaking like sharks amongst the soaking dishes. A need now to refresh this domestic pond with chemical bubbles yet hands are too dilatory to be daubed by yesterday’s food. One has to judge with perfect timing whether to wash the plates or leave them to poison the sink for another hour or two. The essential factors are smell and guilt. When the sludge of the once edible blossoms rudely in an untidy kitchen or the shredded rinds of a latent rigor mortis coat themselves with the pimpled oils of former slicks only then is it time to reassess just how peckish we are for leftovers.