Editor’s note: For December’s Poet’s Notebook, Peter Meinke kept it short while finally throwing the kitchen sink at his poetry.
“Our neighborhood Driftwood had our annual feast in the part by our house, so we'll spend today recovering from excess everything,” Florida’s poet laureate told CL on the day after Thanksgiving. “A light piece today, just a rondeau and a complicated drawing of our kitchen sink…”
Kitchen Sink with Cliché
Our kitchen sink stands alone
in dignified homeliness workworn
and modest in the scheme of things
though it’s seen love among the strings
of sausages and chicken bones
Its faucets leaked loneliness one June
and splashed wild laughter when you came home
with corks and corkscrews bobbing in
our kitchen sink
Looking back at fifty years of poems
an old friend told me that I’ve thrown
everything in them but the kitchen sink:
zinc fingers night trains secret codes angels drink . . .
Well time to atone—Behold
our kitchen sink!
— Peter Meinke
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