Drying Delph

I’m sick and tired of drying delph.
I always do it by myself,
And years of shoulder to the wheel
Are losing their unique appeal.
So many thousand forks and knives,
Enough for several hundred lives.
And as my hatred grows towards
These breakfast bowls and chopping boards,
And mugs and cups with stripes and spots,
And mixing bowls and Teflon pots,
I find it harder to resist
The urge to smack them with my fist.

Perhaps if I had more assistance,
I’d show a wee bit more resistance,
And, if I had a butler, he
Could dry up all my cutlery.