Folding Laundry

There she sat on that ancient chair, my mother

As she sorted the contents of the laundry basket.

Piece by piece she brought to her lap

Smoothing the crevices and the creases

With her warm, plum hands.

Smoothing and patting down the wrinkles of a shirt

Of under pants…

Of children’s wear…

Of towels and handkerchiefs

Until smooth and soft.

She then folded them once, twice, thrice

And along with those folds went the dark memories

Until depleted into the crevices of oblivion.

With each fold heartache was hidden in the soft…

Warm comfort.

No more tears, no more pain…

No more nothing that relates to…

Ache.

Casanova

There he struts down the lane

And in a sec my heart he gains

And squeezes in the palm of his hands

And walks with me to unknown lands

And as he walks down this ragged lane

He sees another pretty dame

And thus my heart he drops down

To the earth I am suddenly bound

He continues to walk the ragged lane

And settles down in the heart of the dame

But breaks the lease before end of year

To keep her moaning and groaning, oh dear!

But he walks on to find another lass

To perch on her heart with much needed ‘class’

But he gets bored often to quick

And jumps of her heart with a quick flick-flick.

My Casanova walks god’s land

Searching for another love

a fast food kind of love if you ask

that lasts some minutes and keeps you mad!