When you come home to a sink full of dishes, you do them extra loud. You’re right.
Washing up was the least I could do while you worked a ten-hour shift.
I always put off doing dishes— it feels like domestic submission.
I know, our marriage wasn’t arranged around the old orientations.
And we have reversed roles like magnetic poles over eons.
Who’s to say the gender of any task? English is no romance language—
the nouns are nonbinary. And truly, I do load the dishwasher better, carefully
sorting cups, bowls, and plates. When you throw them in, it’s a crashing jumble,
like the unholy mess you make when you cook. But your food is so damn good.
Oh, I get another bee in my bonnet for each thing you put in the wrong place.
And when you curse before work, as if pursued by an angry hive, late,
missing your wallet or keys. In the uproar of coats shaken and pockets turned out,
I’m judging you so hard. I should let you search alone. But I never do.
Tina Posner lives in San Diego, CA, by way of Austin, TX, and her native New York City. Her work has appeared in River Heron Review, Oyster River Press, Mantis, Ocean State Review, and more, as well as in multiple anthologies. She works in educational publishing, where she has designed award-winning instructional programs and written over a dozen poetry and nonfiction books for young adults. She holds an MFA in poetry from Pacific University.
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