It was with heavy heart and grimace wide
That I—the piles of dinner dishes—spied.
With caked-on crumbs and bits of dried-on sauce;
The sticky bits remaining from first course.
I looked upon the bubbles rising high
And, reaching for the gloves, let out a sigh.
I ‘spose the dinner dishes must be done…
(Can you finish this poem? 😂😂😂)