poem

Laundry

I gather laundry from the dryer

In one full-armed embracing bundle,

Eschewing the basket, and transfer

The clump of clothes to the bed for the folding.

This pile is your goddam life;

The ceaseless flattening, sorting,

Un-creasing represents your present.

Those stray dropped socks

And yellow collared shirts are the past.

You can always go back for them later.

The future is this warm cozy sweater

That smells like irises and lavender.

I want to wear it

Before it cools.

So I better finish the folding fast

1/24/21