081413 #worm They get on it. They fall into a rhythm. Me mans the sprayer hose, sluicing the slop off the saucers, bowls, plates, glasses, etcetera. He slams the dishes into the racks, slides them sideways. Him runs the dishwasher. While it churns away on one load, he's putting the previous load away. It's all steam and music. A tinny radio blares out perfect love in the middle of the night. Him and Me's hands grow baby soft from the hot water. Dampness from spray and steam battle it out with dampness from sweat, to besog their shirts. Off go their shirts. Up fogs the one small, high window. The night gets blacker, the kitchen glows brighter.