I'll do the dishes tomorrow

“I’ll do the dishes tomorrow”

Peanut butter and jelly
Stains
Smeared across the plates, which are stacked on top of the bowls, and partially-filled glasses stacked on top of those.

My pile
of dishes.

I want
So desperately
To turn on that faucet
And let the steady stream of water work its magic
Although I’m not foolish, and I know
It would only wash away part of the mess.
Still
That’s something.
I need to let that water
Flow
But the handle is rusted.
Cemented in its place.
Not
Today.

My pile
Of dishes.

Impatiently waiting to fall--
To crash against that linoleum tile,
Shattering into flakes
Of glass
And broken dreams.

My pile of dishes sits in my kitchen sink
Not touching me,
I don’t even have to go near it.
Yet somehow it’s heavier than any other object I could possibly carry.
It’s very presence
Is enough to make my whole body ache.

Flies swarm the bits of food
Crusted over
Various places of my pile of dishes have now grown mold.
They have been there for months now.



My ever-growing
Pile
Of dishes.

Is there a limit?
Subjective.
It’s about angles
Location is key too
And obviously weight.
If I stack another cup just a centimeter too far to the right
My dishes could risk being crushed to smithereens.

What’s the worst that could happen?
My pile of dishes could certainly withstand one more.

Someone places a glass on top.
“Do this one while you’re at it”
Those words make me feel sick.
Why am I
The only one
Whose pile of dishes
Seems to only grow?

My awful
Massive
Pile
Of dishes.

Fear
Of that stack falling
Fills my body
And my mind
Yet I stand
On the opposite side of the kitchen
Paralyzed
A terrifying sense of calm
Floods in
I exhale and walk away.

The option of waiting
Is always there, protecting me from that
Monstrous
Pile of dishes.

I’ll do the dishes tomorrow.