A Clothes Call
I don't have a basket of clothes.
Just motley piles here and there;
shirts, pants, and shorts –
some socks and under wear –
mixed up when no one sorts
them – chores I do not share.
No one gets really mad.
I wash whites only in hot
and everything else, Hmmm, not –
and all the rest? Who knows!
Wash and wear? Don't care!
It can't be all that bad!
Some have no clothes at all.
That naked truth is sad!
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
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Written on 2007-01-18 at 01:05
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