The ironing board
Ironing board
Bare feet
You'd make me food
I'd eat
Little later straight clothes
No holes
Warm in winter
The splinter
I have no ironing board now
But still that board reminds me how
I have grown to not need so pressed clothes
Oppressed woes
But the ironing board
Remains at your place
I'll remember those days
And of course your face
The ironing board
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