Laundry

There it sits, my fickle foe, staring at me from the basket below

It starts out small, quite tame and mellow

Then has the nerve to grow and overflow

Out of control colors and darks, whites, lights, delicates, and the like

By looking at me you could not tell that so much of my woes belonged to this foe

So much of my physical aches and pains, so much of my emotional turmoil flairs up

At the sight or even mention of its name

My soul is but an extension of the cold white plastic basket

The completion of which holds the success of my motherhood in its balance

A lost pair, a forgotten shirt?

Oh you cyclical ball and chain you hurt!

You hurt the fiber of my very being and yet your fibers depend on me so

I am ever faithful and loyal to your needs and somehow I find myself succeeding

In your completion oh can it be true

The mounds have faded away the time it, flew

When I think I’m in the clear, I breathe a sigh of relief

Then my glance moves sideways, just to take a quick peak

And marvel over my glorious feats

But there it is, staring right back at me, not gone just diminished temporarily

And still it waits mocking, longing, suffocating my existence for another day

Laundry.