No one
Has done my laundry
In the last forty four
Years.
Awake before the sun,
I have washed and folded
Underwear with kangaroo
Pockets for
Kangaroos I have never wished
To see.
Turned right side out
The smallest of socks
And largest of shirts,
Shaken out wrinkles
And ironed out old
Creases.
Sometimes I am lost in
The piles of neatly
Folded remnants of your days,
A well heeled servant
Of ages gone by,
Those I thought
We had long since
Overcome.