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The Iron
Sits there and judges.
How dare you mock me!
Do you think I have time
to perfect smocked sleeves?
Turned down collars
Frilly blouses
Pleats wrinkle-free.
You are redundant
No longer of use
Except as a doorstop
Or in self-defence.
I will not be cowed
By your flat, grey face.
I glory in chaos,
Crumpled cottons and lace.
I shy from the conservative
Perfectly straight
We will not have flatness
Except on our plates.
Copyright ©
Olivia Tuohy
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