Doing Dishes

My hands swell with wrinkles.
Hot-water makes them frantic
with my Scrunge scrubbing 
silverware that needs scalding ~
hot water sanitizes, weakens the hold
of dried-on Lucky Charms.  

I scrub off microscopic parasites, 
scrub off airborne viruses,
scrub off school-crossing guards
wearing bullet-proof vests,
scrub off drunks in speeding cars
aimed at my little boy
who I hear playing in the alley.

I dry my face with an apron and 
hold it there for a soft second.
I let it slide slowly over my breasts
to the corner of the kitchen table where

it relaxes over the edge,
asleep before it hits the floor.
My dishes dry themselves.





copyright 1994 kathy jo kramer