Fading

When I was digging around in a box in the basement, looking for items to donate, I found my old Sink Poem. I took it out of the dusty glass frame to photograph, cleaned the glass and reinserted the parchment. I’ve typed it as the poem is fading.

Sink Poem

When you dump your glass in here,

Who will find it later, dear?

When you soak your pan or pot

Did you stop to give a thought?

Who will have to stay up late

When you leave your bowl or plate?

Who will rinse and wash and dry

I wonder who?

I wonder why?