Sweat settles
in the creases
of her flesh.
Leaky roof...
the pots sing
splashing songs.
Round and fuzzy
under my couch;
are you a turd?
Them dishes
has piled up all week.
You do 'em.
Heaving from the bath,
she grasps ~
a towel too small...
Swirls of dirt
in muddy gray trails
mark the floor.
New job
tomorrow;
perhaps I should bathe.
