I do not understand it, not one little bit,
I clean them every evening, and on the sink they sit,
yet next time when I notice the sink is piled high
with dirty cups and mugs and such, stacked up to the sky.
I’m not sure who is using all my cutlery each day
or how dirty plates sneakily arrive, when my back is turned away
the bowls that sink down slowly, under pressure of cold water
it stretches plausibility, to think they’re all used by my daughter!
I have come to the conclusion there are phantoms in my house
that only can communicate via the dirty dishes left about
I’m not sure of their message, but I have begun to think
that their language must be called – the perpetual dirty sink!
© ceenoa
It’s been a pleasure visiting the poetry part of your blog, Claudette. You have a talent for writing many varied pieces and invariably leave me smiling (at the funny ones) or in thoughtful reflection. I’ll be back 🙂
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Hi Phil, amazed you have waded through so much already 🙂 you must have a high threshold for pain 😉 Glad you have enjoyed them, it’s always good to laugh the world needs more of it.
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