A shrill alarm sounds in the hall, then still and quietness.
I rush toward the siren call, to rescue my red dress.
The latch released, I close my eyes then lunge into the dark,
to free the poly-cottons from the hot breath of the shark.
I dump them on the top of an ever-growing pile,
of jeans and towels and T-shirts that have waited for a while.
The dryer’s empty now, and while it’s growing cold,
Prepared to beat the mountain, I finally start to fold.
The wash-cloths are so easy, being tiny, square and neat.
But I almost lose my patience when I wrestle with the sheets.
“I am finished!” is my cry as I tackle the last frock.
The giant hill has dwindled to a mismatched pair of socks.
But victory is brief for as I turn to leave,
Peeking from the hamper is a little bit of sleeve.
—-Robin Prince Monroe