Memoirs Of A Dirty Dish

(Reader of poem clears throat, takeing dramatic pause)


I am a dirty dish
Not a worthless dish
Have been used, then forgotten

All I need is soap and love
Wont someone wash me?
Be gentle, try not to break me.


I AM A DIRTY DISH

But I am not a worthless dish.

Please don't make me a worthless dish.


(Reader of poem weeps gently, openly, exposed)

Curated Show

If my life were a curated show,
Your art would set on a wall of its own.

If my life were the length of a crane,
You'd climb up that crane, people'd call you insane.

If my life were held inside a fence,
You would stay in my fence, though it'd make little since.

If my life was just one grain of sand,
I would be the one that stuck to your hand.

My life is my life, is the real truth, though.
And you don't bother with non-curated shows.