Separation Anxiety

Separation Anxiety.

Separation Anxiety

I am posting this poem because I have not put any of the silverware away.  All that was left in the silverware drawer was one pink baby spoon.  I really don’t like putting it away.  In fact, all the clean silverware is still in the dish washer.  What is your domestic torture chore?

 

“Separation Anxiety”

I don’t like to sort silverware.

period.

there you have it – my domestic torture chore

maybe it’s because the classification

doesn’t match my moods or sequence

We separate into categories

lesbians, doctors, Asians

the homeless, the humble, the humane

categories of separation:

of color

of race

of sexual preference

of tax bracket brooch

it really doesn’t matter to me

I accept all

but perhaps not as much as I’d like to think

do the knives always belong with the knives

does the silver spoon

always have to fit tight with its brother

or the fork with its corky spikes

the other utensils get tossed in with the rest

yet, we always, separate the knives from the forks

as if, the garlic press can tolerate the ladle! 

perhaps an analogy for our domestic tolerance

I break down periodically

segregating the forks, spoons, and knives

into their happy little collated coves

usually thinking they belong that way

yet, I never have liked it

and, probably never will

memomuse

Copyright 2009