I never thought of laundry
in such a light as this.

A chore, no more no less.

Never this dark seductive mistress.
Never this muse that sparks fire.
Never this exciting event.

But I guess I never thought of laundry.
No, loading the washer and dryer
is rarely on my mind.

It is the slavery of folding
to me raises a heavy hand.
'Tis with a dark heart I hear
the ill fated buzz of the dryer
calling me into line.

The bucket line of one.
Hauling load after load
to be dumped in a sweet
smelling heap, piling higher
with wrinkles and creases.

I do not know why
I am tormented by folding
I can only hope
I can reach the bottom of the pile.
For while I've been writing
I've been folding all the while.