My closet is a cleaner’s dream
a nightmare, truly
stuffed with sweaters, pants, skirts;
two full closets of dresses all
hung so tightly impossible to pull one out.
On the bottom are shoes- a hundred pairs I guess,
all shapes and colors for day and night,
in hot or cold weather. Handbags dangle
from broken rungs thrown willy-nilly
on side walls: big ones for computers, small ones
for carrying cash and a lipstick–colors that match
every outfit I own and others I don’t.
I dream of clothes of all colors, with blouses
and scarves to match. Even underwear must match,
it, too gets thrown wherever it can fit.
Every year I organize,
everything has a place,
and in 2 months,
it’s a mess.
I can’t win these days,
I won’t even try.
Just close the door
and breathe. It’s not yours