Heavy eyelids threaten to drop
As I turn off the faucet
And wipe the last plate dry.
The wet rag falls from my hand
A disheveled clump
In the middle of the kitchen sink.
I don’t bother to pick it up
And fold it into a neat rectangle
As I am wont to do.
I drag my feet towards an inviting sea
Of soft pillows and satin sheets
A private cabin fit for a queen.
As the ship sets sail,
A shrill sound abruptly beckons
Water rolls in deafening laughter
Inside a silver kettle
I had forgotten
And regretfully left there
Whistling me back to shore.