For fifty years he stood at his job
growing a small pension and varicose veins
that still ache when he walks
Yet he refuses to get a dishwasher
to save his back and legs: it was for her sake
he stood and ours
Nothing has changed He leans
against the sink bends his stiff back
over the suds
She had cooked for him for almost sixty years
had been a partner of the first water: loyal
loving a constant friend and a gypsy
on the dance floor where his legs felt young
despite the pain And so he stands and scrubs
each cup and plate the frying pan each fork
while the hot water pours from the tap like music.
:: Charles Fishman, Country of Memory (2004)
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