I open the dishwasher.

A waft of steamed air comes out.

I smell the sanitized, chlorinated scent,

And wonder why it smells like money.

Then I wonder what is licit love?

What illicit?

When the clouds are pressed and rain falls

On the just, on the unjust alike,

Or when the rinse cycle begins

And all the dishes get cleaned,

Even the ones that were very dirty,

Will some say that the love the water had 

For the plates was wrong?

Or will some of us always be willing

To pay just a little bit extra

For a newer, more improved dishwashing soap,

And/ or love

That smells like money?

-jenn