Laundry Day
Budget industrial-strength detergent has rid
the world of your scent
replaced it with
cruel ‘cotton wind’.
Your pyjamas are folded, retail ready crisp
every crease of your shape
lost under an iron’s press
the sweaters that kept you warm
when the warmth of affection had long burnt out
are set aside, ready to be discarded.
Pulled threads, a crime punishable
on your death.
I cling to my anger
the way your jacket clings to rusting hook
the way rusting hook grips splintering fire door
the way your stoic smile was etched on your face.
Someone says ‘That’s the last of them’
two piles of your personality
one for the tip, the other for the charity shops
they’re bagged and leave
faster than you
left us.
Paul Short is a poet from Newcastle upon Tyne, currently working on his first pamphlet. His main influences are the heritage of the North East and his working-class background. Paul’s poetry has been published by Black Bough Poetry, Broken Spine Arts, Dark Poets Club, Flight of The Dragonfly, and several other journals.
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