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Soap suds peel her turmeric-stained fingers. Yet, the smell lingers:

On trendy double strollers and rush-hour PATH train ‘muters
From closets meant for brooms to suited conference rooms.

Karma police ambush from a distant radio. Head spins faster than afternoon treasures:

Speckled rocks and fallen sticks hidden safe in pockets
Of winter jackets tossing madly in a heaving dryer.

She carelessly knots pretty bows in plastic. An offering:

Banana peels and bones, limp cucumbers,
Elmo diapers, half-eaten candy wrappers

to the electric fire gods.

It is time again to face her nemesis. “Nothing stainless about steel”, she huffed and she scrubbed:

Straining to see a reflection
Of she in a sink
Of vessels.