Housewife

I’ve placed all hope in you, dishwasher.
May you clean the chinks of burnt food
From my darkening world.

Dirt is a cancer infecting the soul
Of a house, and I have lost everything
But this teacup and this casserole dish,

Who are like my aging children
Alone dying in a classroom somewhere.
And now I will see them washed anew.

I can’t help but worry as the water
Deliberates over the diagnosis.
I will help prep the patients in the sink,

I will extend to you that gesture
With which you must make due.
Then I will wait in the living room

Among the doilies and the potted palms,
I will pace on the turquoise runner
And stare at nothing on the wall.

I stand and listen to you work in secret.
I’ve kept my spirits high with this toddy,
I’ve kept hope alive with small talk.

I fear the worst as night is moving in,
And all of a sudden there is silence.
I shall have a peek at how things went.

Dear dishwasher, why are you crying?
You’ve made them hideous, yes,
But it's the same with all newborns.

I will spank them, cut your cord,
And crawl into the cupboard
To nurse myself until I begin to dream.