Labor Day. I am already
washing clothes at 7:45 a.m.,
the green ink stains
from the sheets and spread
which soaked all night,
a careless act of overly-involved work.
Usually hair spray loosens the ink
right out, but this time it failed.
Second wash, I’m hoping for the best.
My summer spread, a cream-colored
crinkle crepe with satin trim, may be lost.
Purchased for a dollar ten years ago,
at a yard sale in a yard that no longer exists,
the coastal property where a woman I knew
lived for decades, the funky little room
where she did acupuncture buried
beneath high-rise condominiums.

9/5/05