Sarah St Vincent Welch #128 the washing up

doing the washing up

you wipe,

taking my old position

and the child’s task

(as I see it)

me still closely supervised

with what sight and

judgment is left, faltering

the rhythm, mine too fast

impatient, anxious to

be gone to the next

job (there are many)

though few matter

perhaps none

I remember it well

the lore of cutlery

three tined fork

four tined

their drawers

better and best

then the everyday

all are tarnished, 

superlatives

diminished, dim

strain against

any pace 

none will do

distance is my old answer

out the kitchen window

crawling along the ceiling

flying out the front door

swirling down the sink

taking the tea towel to finish up