So there I was, out back
Under a windy cobalt sky
Hanging life’s laundry on the line
While deciding what to wear
And what to throw away

Funny, how once beautiful things
Get so tattered and old;
How a piece of fabric you once clung to
Like a life raft now seems just a rag;
How a shirt you wore like armor
Now can’t keep the sun from shining
Through the sleeves.

I looked like a king in this number
And had heads turn my way
When I strolled jauntily through town
Sporting my ambitions like I was
Blessed with them, and my love
Like it would never fade.

Now this old thing smells of
Detergent and too many voyages
Through the machine. And these socks
Never walked too far before
They were full of holes or pebbles
That cut and scarred my feet

I am thinking the Salvation Army could use
Those jeans, and someone with a
Better disposition might want to wear
This sweater, woven from the whole cloth
Of phantasmagorical amours

As for me, there is always sackcloth
To throw over a sullied form;
So attired
I will let the elements decide
Whether a raw and honest nudity
Might be the clothes that make the man

But there are so many clothes
And so few clothespins
And there is just so much you
Can hang out to dry on any
Cold and windy day.

11/30/2011

Posted on 11/30/2011
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch