This poem is by Marie Howe. I came across it in a book at Anthropologie, and I love it. I hope you enjoy it, too.
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
Waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday w…
