American River Review 2022 - copy - Flipbook - Page 52
Dish Washing Day
By Josh Lacy
Muse! O my sudsy Muse!
man, like Leonidas
Where art thou Muse!
besieged by my enemies
Behind the bowls
on the hills of Thermopolis.
stained blood red
O Muse! Lead me to the French
gallows
from spaghetti? Or
are you in the browned coffee mugs,
stacked tall
as though it t’were the Colossus of
Rhodes?
abandoning me before another dish
day.
Wednesday.
No, no. Has thou forsook me? On this
day of all days,
The casserole. Oh that damned
casserole,
the dreaded day of Dish Washing,
cheese cemented
Wednesday.
upon the pyrex.
What madman
Like the Hydra,
but Nero would put unrinsed
every smudge I scrub, two more
appear.
plates in the sink,
cast iron skillets
The sponge floats on the top of the
grey water;
in the murky water?
Ark of Noah,
None but someone who’d given up
filled with thousands of life forms, all
microbial.
all semblance of respect to others.
Here I am, but a man, a soaked
52
or the pyres of New England before
Reeking apron
upon my neck,