Those Hands That do Dishes

[Wjames]

Those Hands That do Dishes

Old pots and pans never die,
they reside forever in the limbo
of soapy water and drying rack.
They may disappear as you would
expect Houdini's plates to depart
but like bad copper coins, they return. I like this better without depart, I think it's already taken care of with "disappear". I would just put a comma after "to" instead. i.e:

They may disappear as you would
expect Houdini's plates to,
but like bad copper coins, they return.

Marigold gloves
on the other hand I like the little contrast between copper and gold.
live for three washes.
Their decayed insides
smell with the stink of old palm 
sweat expelled inside rubber souls
melting the skin into pasty white. I really like the ending, there's a brand of dish soap called "palmolive", so I smiled at a double meaning of "palm" here that might not have been intentional.

I liked the poem, we're always doing the same tasks over and over again, and to me this was a metaphor for someone worn down by the monotony of it all (like the gloves).