MARY KAY CASEY
Tea Stains


Why set the dirty glass in the sink
for someone else to wash?
Why not rinse it,
sloshing the tap water around
and up the sides of the tumbler,
and then pouring it down the drain?

Or, let it soak on the counter,
until it gets a soapy bath with spoons?

Why not make it easier
than having to push
the edges of the wet dishcloth in hard circles,
deep into the glass with your careful fist,
slowly,
so as not to be surprised
by the crack you are surely trying to avoid?

Why not do the thing,
that makes the next,
less difficult?

MARY KAY CASEY

Mary Kay Casey has lived in Iowa since 1956, residing in Des Moines for the last thirty years. She is a member of a salon, a gathering of poetry lovers who meet monthly to read verse that has captured them, to share the discovery of a new poet, and, at times, to read original poetry of its members. She works for a local hospice organization as a bereavement and volunteer coordinator. This poem is the result of an annoyance with the habit of a visiting friend, the annoyance taking on a more universal question about why we do what we do.

This page was first displayed
on February 22, 2008

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