I hide in the laundry room my family thinks I’m washing, I trip on old Doc Martin boots and dream of 80’s moshing. I shift my junk from pile to pile to clear a tiny section, Some old lady’s watching me. Nope. That's my reflection. I hide in the laundry room my family thinks I’m drying, Wet laundry sat, it’s musty now, or is a rodent dying? I poke through the candy drawer stuff snickers in my pocket, scratch my arse and wonder why our bulbs don’t fit our sockets. I hide in the laundry room my family thinks I’m folding, When I hear your footsteps near I find some clothes for holding. I sort and roll a sea of coins print labels with bad words, I make a sticker workout chart then change to tally turds. I hide in the laundry room, my family thinks I’m mending, I wish that I could stay for years but see my secret ending. I’d really like to wash some clothes but cannot reach the dials, One day I’ll need the ironing board but it’s behind the piles. Help yourself to shoe goo, take some thrift store glitter glue Your clothes won’t fit you anyway ‘cause while I hid you grew.
December 15, 2017
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