Shouldn't that last line be:

...And little pools of turtle shit.

Nay. Everything in the poem is something with which I've had first-hand experience vis a vis paper towels. I've never picked up pools of turtle shit, but I have picked up turds of poodle shit.

The truth of the matter is I never used to use paper towels. There was always a damp dishcloth available to wipe up spills and crumbs. Then I started buying microwavable frozen pre-cooked sausage patties. Just plop one on a saucer, nuke it for a minute and blot it with a paper towel to absorb the grease. Sorry, but I'm not eating a sausage patty that's been blotted with a dirty dishcloth. So now the paper towels are there on the bar all the time and, yes, I've become an addict.