In the early evening sunlight,
That shines through the kitchen windows,
I scrub an encrusted frying pan.
I am kept company by the dismal splash
Of water as it falls from the facet.
The sound keeps my mind from wandering
To the intimidating abstract pigeonholes
That are my every misgiving.
My eyes squint to reduce the glare
And they spot a lonely sparrow
Pecking at the household garbage
But to me, he means nothing
And alas, I am scrubbing a clean pan
The soap has long since been washed away
Along with the filth and grime
But it’s my wish, that it was mine.