Rewritten 2nd July 2022 from original 21st August 2011

All the food scraps on the plates that get put into the dishwasher, things go in, but ultimately don’t come out... where does all that sh%t go,

…with all of the other seemingly rational stuff around us that disappears without reason I imagine:

- our sense of quiet, and time,
- honest pay for honest effort,
- simple things, that work,
- enduring love and kindness,
- dreams and futures, that were to be …but were not.

They disappear out of view, are latched onto by devious forces and are blown to smithereens somewhere in dark corners, bashed, smashed, hashed, and ultimately, …trashed.

And we are left with what it is,

dishes that are clean, for the most part …of residue.


Inspiration: contemplating that a lot of what we hold dear gets lost in the process of living life, in getting through.


Old Men, Plaza San Francisco, Bolivia.

Beach Afternoon Poetry (mine) Arguments copyright information Copyright Sunda 2011