Recycling is good for the planet
Seeing my ironed socks, polished glass
friends declare he’s servicable, a keeper.
But they don’t know, can’t imagine
his moonlit yearnings, his penchant
for rubber – not lingerie but stationary.
The flip side of those origami scribbles
fluttering from pockets, the notes stuck
on the fridge urging me to eat his plums.
Let’s not speak of housework. l say
live and let live, but dusting in a wet suit?
Vacuuming in lederhosen? Buffing
me in the buff? Even Alexa has given up.
I tried – took him to my book group
to the Ukulele girls, to Capoeira. No takers.
So next week he’s going on Freecycle –
Banker, slightly worn, one careless owner.
William Carlos Willams was not harmed
in the writing of this poem.