Dishwasher At The Barricades
I made the mistake
of listening to headlines
while I washed the dishes tonight.
I’d been proud of myself
for washing them
rather than just getting into bed.
By the time I finished
I was enraged,
my heart pounding in my chest.
The antithesis of meditation.
It’s the Frodo Baggins of it all:
living through times
I’d have rather avoided,
chest full of a heart
that can’t look away.
I’m too cowardly for the big things.
I let my bosses silence me.
I hide behind the age-old fear
of getting yelled at.
I’m not a Willem van Spronsen.
Not an Alexander Berkman.
My hands shake
as I rinse the last glass,
set it rim-side-down
on the pile of clean dishes
in the drying rack.
I turn off the podcast
so I can write this poem.
/ / /
4/7/25
Charlottesville VA
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