Washing Up
Time drips from my shirt sleeves,
I do the washing up.
You pick up the pieces
when I break yet another cup.
Talk is not our purpose,
nor conversation our aim.
We dry up muttering how
the other is to blame
for countless minor mishaps,
shattered dreams and broken glass.
And one major accident,
our marriage.
Time drips from my shirt sleeves,
I do the washing up.
Will you throw away the pieces,
when I break our very last cup?
