It does not bother me 

To put away the dishes in a stranger’s house 

Imagining a natural order to things:

Forks, knives, spoons or

Forks, spoons, knives

But almost always forks first

I’m insane for the order that abjures chaos (these days)

So your plate stack comforts me 

Because it is like my grandmother’s or

Not like my ancient lover’s or 

Somewhat like the way that I would do it

how much can you improvise with a plate? 

A kookaburra counterpoints the traffic

There is a light percussion of a housemate’s morning routine 

Scattered music, unprintable silence

I try not to ruin the joy of being alive

By thinking I should do something with it

Categorized as musing

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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