The Dishes Won’t Wash Themselves

The wind is growling,

And the sky is open,

Pouring and dripping with fury.

The sirens grow louder,

Constantly calling

To the beat of racing hearts.

Warnings of doom blare from the screen

Causing pacing, panic, and tears.

All are huddling and bracing,

Hiding in terror.

Except one.

Standing at the sink

In blissful denial,

Because the dishes won’t wash themselves.

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