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.
