The irony of a dirty soap dish

Just found this poem thing I wrote on a napkin maybe a year ago. Beth took this pic of me the other day in the RV I almost bought.
THE IRONY OF A DIRTY SOAP DISH.


Loneliness. What a funny friend. At a sushi bar, surrounded by humans, lonely as the single rice left behind. Why MORE lonely when in company of people, less lonely when just me and my cat — alone?


“Isn’t it ironic?” asked my 90s flat hair hero.


• Ironic as the soap dish being dirty.


Which is something I spent so long contemplating this morning I was late for wherever I was going.


My whole life is late.


Or is it right on time?



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