Thursday, December 10, 2009


Prill will do the job, and Scotch-Brite
A few drops on the scrubber
of amber-yellow ooze (lemon scented, no less)
will work the grime just fine.

The spoons and forks will be easy,
They have scooped and then let go
of the muck that was food a few hours back,
Faring far better than my ideal musings about us.

Ladle and other servers, butter knives,
Precision stainless steel curves
caress more sticky mess than I do. Lucky?
Make sure the concaves are cleaned well.

Frying pans are far more stubborn.
Blisters of oil and grease are as adamant
as you in a good mood. Drown till
the wounds are dissolved in warm water.

Scarred chopping board loves turmeric.
Refuses to let go. It's war this time
if you burn the milk! Black milky crusts
have nothing astral about them.

Boiled rice stuck under the rim
of the pressure cooker. Dislodged
bread-crumbs eerily rolling over my palms.
Stained mugs turning brown, inside-out.

Orphaned chilly seeds burn
whatever my hands touch, including my rare
opportunities to make love. Water and soap,
water and soap, more and still more. Oh my!

Wipe dry and leave a sparkling kitchen,
All the dishes are done, for now. Tomorrow,
it is chicken in salsa sauce. Marinate now?
This job has no end
     - much like all else in daily life.


  1. Aar ki. Ceci est ma vie now. Emine te, tomar shate kohta bolchi na - if you haven't noticed yet.