I Should Never Wash The Dishes

I should never wash the dishes.
There is something about standing alone
and letting my mind off its chain
that fires the flare 
and brings all the shameshades running.
Every stupid line
every heartbreaking moment
all the times I should have walked
all the times I stayed too long
all the pages I ripped out of the notebook and burned,
all there
in glorious technicolor
and I don’t know how to muzzle them,
cull them, put them out.
They keep returning like rats to an overflowing dumpster.
I don’t have an incantation to banish them
cannot scatter them with threats or thrown rocks 
and there are always others standing in line to take a shot.
Reason doesn’t help at the kitchen sink
or at 2am when the math dance medley of Howmany Howlong 
 Until I Have To Get Up For Real
is in full swing.
I tell myself briskly,
those people don’t even remember me.
 But my brain whispers….oh, they do
and you did
and you didn’t and you should have
why didn’t you
That is the side I never show,
the song I never sing,
the knowledge that I will never live up to my own expectation.
like charity,
should begin at home.
But those shades
those “you fell short phantoms”
 are at home,
 well fed and comfortable too
and they don’t want me to forget…

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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8 Responses to I Should Never Wash The Dishes

  1. The ghosts you can never lay to rest. The poems this Monday morning are decidedly introspective. Love this one.

  2. Reblogged this on Jane Dougherty Writes and commented:
    Another poem for a damp Monday morning. Cuts chillingly close to the bone.

  3. merrildsmith says:

    I came here from Jane’s blog. I loved this one, too!

  4. A single ace of kindness, a smile, a hug for someone who looks like they need one, a shoulder to cry on, a kind word, an unexpected gift given just because. These are things that will make doing the dishes more pleasant. :o)
    Beautifully written.

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