Limp--a poem, by J

I've been working up the courage to try out a poem on my readers. So, here we go!

Limp

When you are in my kitchen,
Love,

Use the black and white dishrag;

The thin one, the one that’s

Greying to threadbare places

That I have squeezed and rung and twisted

‘Til it wept gushings of warm suds

And all my panic ran down

The grating scruff of your cheeks.

Use it because I have rung pieces of myself

Into the very fabric.

Use it because the grime

Runs quick through those bare places

And with it the guilt

And the fear.

It must run quick because

I am eager to please, and

You are in a hurry, and

Efficiency is essential.

I am glad my favorite dishcloth

Has not outlived its usefulness.