Free-verse Poem

Precariously piled,
implements of process,
sink to
bottomless depths
with a
residual sigh.
Their fate the
same
as yours.
Rinse
Soap
Scrub
Dry;
Repeat.

‘Til gleaming towers
emerge anew
with beaded
sweat and steam.
The tell-tale sign
of completion:
ripple marks,
flowing and fading,
on supple
fingertips.