How a House Wife Hangs Laundry
Winter gone, my room longed for spring,
cleaning my crushing mess, remove the trash
by gathering the trinkets, gifts, and things
I could not collect and pawn for cash.
That eighty dollar Christmas watch
I half expect you to give away.
I expel a pile of hoodies, a swatch
among books, bears, and roses past their day.
And wasting the fabric on the earth
I released each armload into the sky
in a fluttering display of its worth,
I learned how well a wedding ring can fly.
And your shorts become a red flag on trees,
a banner waving to fidelity.
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