Washing Dishes© Poem by Roann Mendriq

Washing dishes at the sink
is a gentle, quiet chore;
Gives me a chance to softly think,
and talk to Russell Crow.

He caws incessantly to me,
I shoo him with a sprinkle;
He scolds indignant as can be,
his glinting eyes a-twinkle.

Here is my sonshine's baby plate,
Still shining new and bright;
For feasts of fudge and chocolate,
at quarter past midnight!

Here are ancient porclaine dishes,
from Grandma's wedding set;
Constant reminders of her wishes,
that I would never once forget...

And here's the husband's coffee mug,
a long lost gift from me;
It came with a gentle holding hug,
the way we're meant to be.

Soaking plates, I hum a tune,
from days long gone since;
I scrub a pretty silver spoon,
and slowly start to rinse.
©