Amid the hustle and bustle there is dish-pit wisdom,
all this coming from the systemic rhythm
of slamming cups and clattering dishes,
if only that would stop, one wishes.
But it always goes on for hours at a time,
washing away the scent of rosemary, thyme, and lime-
cilantro dressing as it cascades down,
into the large sink and catch-basin,
and a break. Is all. You’re chasin’.
Dish-pit wisdom offers lessons on life,
a little reminder of hot, cold, wet, and strife,
we’re thrown about in an endless tidal wave,
of customers eating and leaving - always their slave.
And so the stewards toil in the back,
planning, plotting, and waiting for the best angle of attack
As the dishes come and your hands are prunes,
you keep your mind busy and wash the spoons,
because they’re running out up in front,
and finding them now is a treasure hunt.
The clock keeps ticking and time speeds up,
and then you realize they also need more cups...
This goes on all night long, outside of your control,
as the hot and cold water chills your soul,
you want nothing more than for it to end,
so that you can have time to mend and that’s when,
you really, truly, find a friend.
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