Death By Laundry

Originally posted on my blog, The Bean, January 1, 2012

It started as a little pile
A tiny pile of dirtied style
To wash it would just take a while
A very short, short while.

But my life was busy, so
I let it grow, even though
I needed clean and folded clothes
I really let it go.

The family just kept adding more
The hamper spilled out on the floor
Still, I refused to do my chore
That useless, boring chore.

And so, the pile became a mound
60 pounds, five feet around
At least four feet from top to ground
A real impressive mound.

And THEN it grew into a hill
A silly hill, like Jack and Jill
It grew into a silly hill
A silly, scary hill.

The hill became a mountain then
Tall as Big Ben, and without end
Tall as a stack of a thousand men
Remarkably tall men.

It grew so tall, it blocked the sun
And without sun, life was no fun
It must have weighed at least a ton
At least a goddamned ton.

Not one clean thing, not anywhere
Our drawers were spare, our closets bare
Not a single pair of underwear!
Not one clean thing to wear.

I fell into the pile one day
Was it foul play? I couldn’t say
But I was trapped, to my dismay
Like a needle in some hay.

No help, my husband shook his head
“Tough luck,” he said, as I begged and pled
He and my son just left instead
They left me there for dead.

I began to suffocate
A slow heart rate left me sedate
I swore I could see heaven’s gate
I knew death was my fate.

In my last hours, I felt contrite
“If I’d known, I really might
Have separated darks from white,”
I thought, with sad hindsight

I made one last stab to survive
I kicked and cried, and wished, closed-eyed
That all those clothes were washed and dried…

And then I fucking died.

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