Waltzing With Dishes

You dry, she said,
as if dishes were wishes,
and that was enough to enthral
me with this earn your own keep,
horrible, chore-ible
sort of stuff.
And so I dried,
but in a misery-boots
sort of huff ‘cause what I kinda
wanted to do was play
in a swervy,
sort of way
with all those bubbles that turned
greasy, grubby dishes to squeaky clean.
But what I really,
really, really wanted
was to wear those long,
luscious, pink rubber gloves;
they were like Cinderella’s slippers,
but for waltzing with dishes.

Written for Poetic Bloomings Prompt # 77: It’s A Chore

Author: Misky

‘Misky’ lives in the UK surrounded by flowers, freshly baked bread, and always keeps dog biscuits in her pocket for her blind Springer Spaniel. She never buys clothing without pockets. Her work is widely published.

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