Cleaning the Bathroom
By Jennifer L. Freed
His towel, hanging
rumpled on the bar,
holds the ghost of his
hands.
His Pears transparent
soap.
Two strands of silver
woven through his comb.
The hamper—full
of his clothes. Can you
carry them
down to the washer, hang
them
on the line?
And then
can you fold them smooth
against your chest
and let them go
to Goodwill?
In the shower, dandruff shampoo
he thought he’d try.
On the door, the empty
hook. When
will you wash your hair,
stop wearing his robe?
stop wearing his robe?
No comments:
Post a Comment