the sieve and the sand

George Carlin said that white people should never play the blues.
In general he was right, but applied universally
this rule would deprive us of The Allman Brothers Band,
so a little leeway is essential.
I have the too many goddamn dishes to wash blues.
The pipes in the building are old
and too small to accommodate a garbage disposal.
Food particles accumulate when the dishes pile up;
the drain clogs, water rises,
so the kitchen smells worse than the hallway
(some time between 5 p.m. on August 25, 2008,
and 5:30 a.m. the next morning,
an unknown person, who left a tall can of Natural Light at the scene,
evacuated by the elevator. It’s runny.)
and the odor makes me even less inclined to wash the dishes,
of which there are, as previously mentioned, too many.

***

I can’t be asked to do the dishes because I’ve got the coffee bowels.
I don’t intend to do the dishes since I’ve got the coffee bowels.
You’ll know what I mean when you hear my grunts and howls.

The sink smells worse than the shit in the hall.
The damn dirty dishes smell worse than the shit in the hall.
When I finally do the dishes, I’ll just break them all.

I washed dishes yesterday until I had grandma fingers.
I washed dishes yesterday until I had nasty raisin fingers.
I didn’t even make a dent; meanwhile, the stink from the kitchen lingers
(and that pile of shit is still there in the hall).