My stomach is a stack of dirty dishes.
Caked Casserole of turned,
Regret-soaked hit and misses.
A day-old worry,
A rushed, hurried,
Thirty minute, I messed up, meal.

All the feel I fit in a pan to bake
And all the love-stuck, scraped off hate,
Clogs the drain.

The get-that-back
echoing absence of your name,
Is the hush in an empty kitchen,
Dirtying up my dishes.
What a mess I've made.

My hand deep in the kitchen sink, searching.
I'm wanting the wash of thoughts
That are you not gone,
Crystal-clean the things gone wrong.

So, I'm making the soap run sudsy-warm,
I scrub the scorn.
Replaced by a perfect peaceful form.
I'll accept,
remove regret.
From the anxious, worry dish of the day.

I'm washing away
The anxious, worry dish of the day.