THE POT AND SHE

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She puts down that same pot she’s scrubbed for a decade

Scrubbed it free of rice, stuck in amorphous clumps

Scrubbed it free of oil from stir frying, and the black of the gas cooker

She thinks about refusing to do this anymore

Has anybody noticed all her effort, or is she another unnoticed cog in a machine that is sapping her dreams day by day?

She could just give up, throw in the literal towel, and just lie down in bed and sleep for decades

Catch up on all those sleepless nights, and rooster greetings

Stares at pot

The pot knows

She knows

Scrub-a-dub-dub