This Wondrous Life of Laundry It is never the food that brings this one home I am not one of those Marie Barone types but I can put soap in a washing machine and push a mean button A scary thing, I hold the bag of clothes above the water, afraid maybe a bug or a package of something will spill out and tell me more than I want to know or maybe something better kept in a wallet could have been, carelessly, placed in a hurried pocket As if the smell of mildewed, wet towels were not enough to make eyes water like onions What is lurking in this bag of his? among the "Tap Out" shirts and mismatched socks I am not naive enough to think my “good boy” is not stupid like his age full of new things placed before him on a dangerous, exciting platter I close my eyes wash away whatever it is was or may be and pray in tune to the swish, swish, swish he is less like me than I was In His Absence In his absence I see clearly the significance of his presence I see it in thirsty flowers and uncut grass a low gas tank that fairies once filled I feel it on the cold side of the bed where I lay his favorite warm-up suit like a body with a cigar on the pillow that I pretend to pull from his lips where it sticks a little and wakes him from a dream my dream ©Sandee Lyles