Washing Up Poem by Dan Brown

They sit there, on their plateau, still fresh from chocolate gateau
as a symbol of all that’s wrong
Such judgmental crockery; making such a mockery
of my feeble life all along

There isn’t a single dish that hasn’t the faintest wish
to be properly put away
But I can’t seem to do it; can’t face going through it
so they’ll sit there another day

To pull on a rubber glove and end this dirty-dish love
is my sole and ultimate goal
But I may need another someone quite like my mother
to force it all down the plughole.