The dying art of washing dishes

I decided that I wanted to post a poem I wrote. It is called THE DYING ART OF DISHWASHING and was published in Foliate Oak, the school magazine of the University of Arkansas. I hope you like it.

With aging eyes, I witness modernization.

Lying against my antique headboard,

goose down pillows propped behind me,

I watch my new plasma TV,

strategically centered, magically connected,

constantly tuned in to reality.

But in this age of convenience and invention,

There’s one simple thing that relieves my tension.

I stand in front of my kitchen window,

gazing, cocooned, entranced.

Then I dip my hands in the soapy water,

and my soul begins to dance.

I travel to places I’ve never been,

Imagine myself young and free,

My broken heart mends, my guilt disappears.

I’m forgiven for sins committed over years.

All of this happens right here in my mind,

all of these things come true.

When I wash the dishes, life becomes simple.

And just for a while, I stop thinking of you.