Folding Laundry on a Summer Evening

By Laura K. Deal

Whose socks these are I think I know.
Their mates went missing long ago.
They’re lost, behind the couch or bed,
Long gone, wherever such things go.

My little cat just nods her head;
She doesn’t care, she’s just been fed,
But I despair of household mess.
I hate that all these pairs are dead.

It’s not just ordinary stress;
I miss those socks, I must confess.
I miss them, though the socks were cheap.
The blue ones matched my daughter’s dress.

I sigh. My pillow looks so deep,
But I have laundry in a heap,
And clothes to fold before I sleep.
And clothes to fold before I sleep.


With apologies to Robert Frost. First published on Asinine Poetry.



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