The Laundry Basket (NAPOWRIMO 2015 #14)

The smell of two weeks

or more whimpering like

a hungry baby lying on its

white crib: oh shirts and

pants and underwear;

each cradling the scent

of a night, a Monday, say,

by the spring-borne fields

as grass sticks to the shirt,

or that Saturday at Bitters

when beer was flung on

your pants or that lazy

Wednesday morning in bed

as syrup dripped from your

fingers — o garments that

hide our lives. O what new

stories are told when the

machine dries you out.

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