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.
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