The Dishwasher
        for JP

On their first date, he gave her
Chardonnay.
She sauteed veal medallions
and served them on greasy plates.
Dishwasher broke, she said, smiling,
as she filled the sink with suds.

He passed up his dream bike,
a 1200 Custom XL Sportstar.
Instead he bought her a shiny black
dishwasher. I love it, she said,
as she sliced him a chunk
of homemade Black Forest cake.

Gone the itch of his glove on the throttle,
he asked for her hand in marriage.
For the child they chose not to have,
they nicknamed the dishwasher, Sally.
His best man gave them a wedding gift,
a case of Cascade detergent.

He never could master Sally.
She eluded his every effort. Cups
in a row, knife handles up, arrange plates
by size, his wife sniped. She grabbed
a pot from his hand. Not that one
and never the imported crystal.

Now he lives for the thrill of the wind
as he races his Harley wide open.
Doesn't get why
his wife needs to coddle
a machine that makes bubbles
and lately leaks water.

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Copyright © 2017 Nancy Scott All rights reserved
from Ah, Men
The Aldrich Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission