Pat Jones


She scrubbed a plate as if it were a man
Who’d called her fat, then walked out, whistling.
Soap bubbles floated up. Grabbing a pan,
She cursed the day she’d faced him, trembling
In her tight dress, and thrown her life away.
Joe was like chili caked on Farberware:
Hardened, determined to be in her way.
Marriage was finding that she didn’t care
Enough to leave. She had nowhere to go.
Smacking a bottle’s base, she watched the Joy
Drip stubbornly, like a repeated lie.
Picturing him in bed with his blonde toy,
She rinsed a knife she’d purchased long ago.
Her hopes were dirty dishes left to dry.

Jeff Holt is a licensed professional counselor who lives in Plano, TX with his wife, Sarena, and their three cats. Jeff has poems published online at,, and other sites. In print, Jeff has poems in Sonnets: 150 Sonnets (ed. William Baer), The Formalist, The Texas Review, and many other journals.