Katie and I often do laundry
at the same time. She says that laundry
will be her death while filling
a front loader. Her husband would
let the clothes stink until he couldn’t
go to work. Even then. She knows
that I’m gay since my underwear
told her behind my back. I tell her
about my husband who likes to say
I’ll get to it. She says I’m lucky
that I don’t have kids. They outgrow
everything except requests.
Our clothes dislike both of us.
I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t
want to be fed detergent
and stuffed into a machine either.
After we fold and trap them
in a box, we drive home.