I seem to have an everlasting pile of dirty dishes. No matter how often i do them they are always making themselves dirty again, perhaps dishes like being washed? and look forward to it at the end of a hard days work. i know that having a bath at the end of the day is one of my favourite things to do.
Today i simply couldnt face them. So i am currently sitting with my back to them and wrote them a poem instead. It goes a bit like this.....
O my Dearest Dirty Dishes!
How my heart is full of wishes
That you'll simply clean yourself.
I squeeze my eyes tight shut
to pretend that your not there.
But even with them closed
I feel your penetrative stare.
O my Dearest Dirty Dishes!
If I blow you lots of kisses
Will you simply clean yourself?
I wiggle at my nose
The way Samantha does.
But you do not go away
And your slowly growing fuzz.
O my Dearest Dirty Dishes
If I fill my sink with fishes
Does that mean you will not stay?
I think of Miss Sweet Poppins
And I quickly snap my finger.
But no matter what I do
You just seem to sit and linger.
O my Dearest Dirty Dishes
Maybe Tomorrow....?
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