i don't want a woman who will do my washing up for me
i don't see any future in the old-style master-slave relation
when i do the washing up though
women are turned off by me
it's either hygiene
or a woman, dirty plates
and aggravation
cynicism, disappointment
lonely in my healthy kitchen
rinsing down the mugs i try to
wash away the old frustration
close my eyes to every clue
especially the ones i leave
myself behind the mirror
that i never really see
Poems For My Analyst by Wayne Myers