Conversation After Dinner While I Do the Dishes (I Never Do the Dishes)
by Gavin Lytton
You’re leaning
against the counter, arms crossed tight
waiting for me to say something.
I know you won’t
understand, you can’t.
I don’t even think I do.
This already sounds pretentious.
Maybe the ground
isn’t solid, the
earth flat. After all,
the dishes are fleeting
thoughts as I knock
them off the counter.
You say that’s silly.
Maybe the plates
need the ground,
searching for something
solid, finding their own end.
To shatter,
before serving.
You say that was good china.
You call it existential angst,
I’m just tired from
eating fancy cake.
Delicate and deliberate,
my hands stretch under
the searing hot water.
You’re leaning
against the counter, hands holding
tight to the ledge, looking
down at our kitchen floor.
The plates look so pretty,
served as they are.
Featured by The Blasted Tree: December 5, 2014
GAVIN LYTTON
Contributing Author
Other works on The Blasted Tree:
Conversation After Dinner While I Do the Dishes (I Never Do the Dishes) by Gavin Lytton is a Blasted Tree original poem. It also appears on Gavin's personal site HERE.
Feature Image by Carlos Gustavo Curado