It was as I was standing on a stool in the kitchen
with a purple polka dotted towel tied precariously around my waist
after having taken my first adult-sponge bath,
leaning over the wet microwave on the counter
and a sink full of dirty dishes and white carnations
with the cabinet door jamming into my shoulder,
and staring as water transferred from the enormous bowl under the boiler
to the measuring cup I was holding,
elbows resting awkwardly on the wet microwave,
through a siphon I'd crafted from blue and pink bendy straws,
that I found myself wondering,
How was your Saturday night?
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