The Dish Family

My mother spent the most time

Relaxing in the hot tub

After exposure to extreme heat all day.

Her greasy perspiration

Stained her complexion,

And chaffed black flakes

When not immediately soaked.

Her nickname was “burnout.”

My father’s job was never done,

He was the coroner,

Sometimes the assassin

Sometimes both.

His sharp, metallic face

Was usually covered

In crimson and brown.

His nickname was “Stabby.”

I usually remained aloof

Like fine china,

But really I was indispensable plastic,

I was like a transparent chameleon:

At any moment

I would be filled with

Raspberry Blue,

The next Cherry Red.

My nickname was “Manic.”

We had different purposes in life

That wouldn’t allow us much quality time

Except sometimes

At the end of the day

We would wash away

Our stains together

In the suds

Of the silver lined hot tub.