Smelling the Ironed Denim
We cannot come now the ladybug sang with accord.
We are smelling the starch on the ironing board.
The baby mouse agreed, she loved the smell of starch too.
And she liked the stiffness of the jeans her mom ironed all blue.
They sat next to the baskets watching Mrs. Mouse work.
She ironed for the McGuffries, the Geedogs and Mr. McLerk.
The iron’s steam wafted in the air, filling the lungs of the two.
Who loved the aroma every time she reached for a denim of blue.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
