Stain

The fruit smoothie just exploded
From the blender across white tile floors.
Dripping mashed, half-chopped fruit covers
My favorite old pair of jeans.
I drop to my knees to glide a wet paper towel
Over the slop. But the berries and milk
Have a way of forming your eyes and tight jaw
Just right. To let the white tile shine through again
I have to wipe away a banana curled lip
And strawberry cocked eyebrow.
I stare, letting the paper towel wilt in my hand.
Maybe salty tears will clean it all for me.
But secretly, I hope it’s a lasting stain.