i am a washer-woman; i do windows too.
folding shirts of steel, ironing pants
of frayed feelings, toting them home.

bright-blue knee patches sewn.

i am dented from falling hailstones,
as ISSA had warned me; he giggles.

i break-out with a grin that could swallow Canada.

the joke's on me, always has been;
took me years to see, but now i do.

quite a funny one, too; laughable.

so serious was i just twenty minutes ago;
yet, like the bull-rider i am, my gloves're

on tight, rosin rubbed and flank-rope loose.

yet, i tighten my grip and hang on for dear life.

08/23/2010

Posted on 08/23/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan