Forget Magazine. Remember, Remember, Remember.

You are the watching eye, floating
above the glass casserole dish,
looking down on the even film
of coating grease.

The dish juts diagonal
from the bottom-left corner
into the center of the screen. It
holds nothing but grease,
a baked-on deficiency.

Post-consumer recycled content in
soothing citrus colour scheme: the bottle
tilts into the frame to give the eye
a full-on ogle at the branding.

Streaming liquid soap sparkles digitally, drops
toward the grease and
with this conflict impending
the ideal hand appears, curved delicately
around the yellow of a sponge. The hand

sweeps effortless on the hinge of an unseen elbow,
across the dish in a measured arc, and
the grease is cut. The hand waves
out of the picture and the eye is left to observe
the words falling from screen-top to pile
on the right margin:

Cuts
Tough
Grease.

Left to observe the grease itself,
the swath of clean
that is a small gate or an open window
to a fresh dimension previously inaccessible.

This is what the eye tells us:
there is not only
a great and untainted good, but
it is simple and cheap
and clamours for your desire.

Matthew Dorrell is the pick of the litter.