Domestic Blitz

My kitchen sink is a gastronomic warzone

of food scraps, glass, metal and china

a lingering fusion of spice

drip drops of tomato sauce and olive oil

splattered all over the hotplate and tile wall

like a Pro Hart canvas

leftovers are scraped into the tidy bin,

well, according to Murphy’s Law

some land onto the floor

making a mess of the whole damned thing,

after each squeeze, the detergent bottle bubbles

the last erupting beads of lemon scented liquid

prove stubbornly resistant

spa steam rises making me sweat

water trickling from my brow into the salt lake

triangle at the front of my neck

I suppose that rubber glove on my submerged right hand is a hole in disguise

as my fingers start to swell becoming twice their original size

each utensil blindly lifted from the milky tub is a lathered revelation

and randomly driven about the basin

the last stubbornly concealed from elevation

crockery chips on the stainless steel tap when I don’t concentrate

oops, there goes another set!

plates are piled high in the super bowl

elevating Archimedes principle

dam! (or was that Eureka!) a wavelength spills onto the splash back

and in my panic I unplug the sinkhole

fingers fumbling in desperation  to seal the sucking! chasm

at last, all is rinsed and strategically stacked onto the drying rack

until it suddenly topples over as I turn my back,

casseroles crashing to the ground giving me a heart attack

I wipe down cupboards, hood, hotplate, bench, microwave, oven, sink,

and mop the kitchen floor, but of course

when I take the rubbish out there’s a !@#$%^  tear in the plastic!

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