|
| |
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
Copyright ©
Bradley Smith
|
|