Cotton Commercials

Cotton Commercials always reminded me of my grandmother's house irony cotton paralleling Ridgfield Park, New Jersey bitterness. Boiling in decrepit neighborhoods, once swarming with Irish and Italian Catholics. Now a haven of cracked sidewalks ten miles outside of Manhattan. Maybe it was the song that did it? Reminiscent of that old wood grained plastic box radio in the kitchen playing fifties music. The vibrations resonated under the flourescent lighting, and bounced off her split level metal coffee pot, percolator on the stove. It wasn't the softness that reminded me. The only softness in her home was the pea green shag carpet in the living room that she refused to replace or remove. Removing it would expose the beauty, and deep hardwood floors don't absorb drinking, destruction and despair, but would send secrets bouncing off stained glass that she can't step and press into the heavy shag. She sits alone watching soaps in dim dusty lighting drapes drawn tight.