clean clothes

the tumbled dry
clothes
still hot
in the white
machine have
no idea where
they might go next.
what spills
they might endure,
what tears and rips
could occur along
my clumsy way.
the ink stain
that won't come
out, the ketchup
still pink
on the white shirt.
the sock who
won't give up
despite it's growing
hole. all loyal
to a fault, clinging
to their importance.
smiling with
cleanliness, to
be worn again.