Reek of Love

He wore the shirt she met him in
      for many days, a week he thought,

Then finally she dared to speak,
      "Your shirt, it reeks, please wash it soon!"

She might as well have slapped his face,
      and yet they still fell fast in love,

But after this, his shirts were clean,
      were always different every day,

Since at the laundromat he found
      a plastic bottle green in hue

Containing simple laundry soap,
      the secret elixir of love.
      

Ode to an Old Shirt

 
You were a gift
   with a slogan
   across your chest.
 
“Talk Bizarre” or
   something close —
   all that’s left,
 
After many
   detergent cycles,
   is a faded Z, and
 
Many holes,
   tears and
   sagging neck.
 
Once worn often
   every season,
   you performed well
 
In the manner of shirts —
   kept out cold,
   blocked breeze,
 
Shielded skin
   from sun,
   sponged up sweat.
 
But “Bizarre” gave you
   a long life
   and many conversations,
 
That was your
   unique attribute,
   your elixir of youth.
 
And now, wet
   with soapy water,
   you push and pull
 
Across a filthy car,
   Z forgotten,
   no longer bizarre,
 
Suffering the
   mundane fate
   of a rag.