The Closed Line Poem by shimon weinroth

I hang up the wash,
she doesn't like the way I do it,
irreverantly, not smoothing creases,
and if its her undies she doesn't
want me to handle her personals,

when I do it,
the corners twisted, clothespins too tight
the hanging lines are just not right
I pull and stretch this way and that,

when I finish hanging they always seem
a motely lot,
kitchen towels here, jeans there
pants and shirts hanging never ruffle

even listlessly, seem different to the eye
laundering is no easy task,
care to seperate the colored wash
from the white, wool from other fabrics

finesse and delicate touch
etiquette of cloth and weaves
a longer life washing bright,
she adds all sorts of fragrance and smells
fresh and smooth to touch

I know its not fair,
it's not my nature, nor was I brought up
to treat with reverence what we wear,
I can change a flat tire,
or carry out the garbage so much better