PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As Zorbus was washing the morning dishes, he came face to face with his neurosis.

The peanut butter jar lay on its side in the suds, with only a few smears on the bottom and around the rim. It was one of many he had washed over the last few years or more. Rows of this jar’s predecessors crowded the shelves of his basement pantry.

Exotic treasures lay screwed tightly inside many of these plastic cylinders. Somewhere along the way, Zorbus had learned to peel off the label on each jar so he could see what was inside. This worked well for a while, but not so well later, as the jars soon piled up and filled the shelves. Lately, they were sprawling on the floor, in an ever-growing arc of chaos.

More and more of the containers sat empty, and the lids lay coated in dust on the floor. Zorbus was ashamed that he no longer knew what was inside the jars deep down in the pile.

He wrapped the wash-cloth over the bristles of the brush, guided the brush into the jar, and cleaned the film of peanut butter from its every surface. The K++++ brand jars were best, he knew, with an evenly smooth surface everywhere. The no-name brand jars were typically pitted with tiny square dimples in the bottom corners, and took longer by far to clean out.

Zorbus washed the jar's rim and lid, and dried them carefully. He resolved to regain control over his compulsion once and for all. This jar would be his last, he promised himself. He would never fill another.

It was time. He turned, and went downstairs to face his demon.