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| "Et tu, Brute?" |
The Laundry will wait.
(all lies.)
But, does not.
It piles higher,
higher,
and higher
Multiplying
in the dark basement,
(like rabbits, wild with delight)
as I write these words.
Just as;
socks scurry
from the washer
to far away lands
leaving their mates...
behind.
The ironing is:
wrinkling and waltzing
around the ironing board
while I write.
I can sense
revolution brewing.
Bearings going bad in the washer,
sit ins from supporting
appliances,
irons, stoves,
and
garbage disposals.
(I think the mixer is in on it too.)
No easy fixes here.
Détente?
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