The dishes are clean enough.
The counter’s been addressed at the perimeter.
The visible passes any reasonable casual inspector.
But there’s an entire interior economy behind the fridge
and in the corners I haven’t opened for discussion
with the vacuum or the owners.
I ran a cloth along the surface
with the side of my forearm in the interest
of the quick-pass and the reasonable —
that’s the lowest honest expression of the standard
and I’m counting it as maintenance performed.
Clean enough is how the livable gets formally confirmed.
There was a person I intended to become
who owned a proper mop
and hit the grout on hands and knees
and never let the standard drop —
that person lost the thread somewhere around the second year of keeping,
and clean enough assumed command
while that one was still sleeping.
The cleaning spray ran out sometime before the fall turned over.
I wipe the counter with the dish cloth and consider it in order.
Clean enough is honest.
Clean enough is real and uncomplaining.
Spotless is a full-time job I’m no longer maintaining.