Cracked Dishes

As I pull the plates out of the soapy water,
I notice that like everything in my life they are cracked. 

Held together enough to be functional but if I dare pop one in the oven or wipe it too hard with a rag, it’s sure to break.

I had a full set of uncracked dishes when I was younger.
They were replaced because my wife, at the time thought they were ugly.
She replaced them with prettier plates, but they left when she did.

 I bought a box of cheap motherfuckers at Kmart under a blue light to replace the ones she replaced. 
I pushed an overweight woman out of the way to get this coveted set. 

I’ve had them for about three years now, all  are fucking cracked. 


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Filed under creative writing, original writing, poem, poems

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