The Dishwasher

I

Rearranging the dish-
Washer is my “thing”.

A family joke run amok,
I peer over shoulders,

“Dad aren’t you glad we’re
Even putting plates in?”

But I move two blue-striped
Bowls from bottom to top

And the small plates to the
Center, where they evade

The rotating sprayer.
Wife and daughters laughing,

“Does it really matter?”
And of course it doesn’t.

Like so many things done,
And said every day. Force

Of habit or the mirage of
Control of our environment,

As in this is “my” house.

II

It is my one attempt at
Engineering, or is it Geometry?

Filling a finite space to
The maximum. Efficiency

Squared. Or you might just
Think me lazy. While I

Ensure the lowest number
Of dishes that I myself must

Wash. Or perhaps a mild
Neurosis, my inability to just

Let things slide, like lights
On throughout the night.