Going to Goodwill

i take three enormous
green
lawn bags full of old
and new clothes
down to the local clothes
depository, the goodwill store.
some with tags still on them,
never worn.

why i bought an orange shirt,
and green
pants, i'll never know.
a suit with gold
stripes? what the hell.

the woman at the counter
pours everything
out and says.
these all clean?
yup, I tell her.
have you checked the pockets?
no sharp objects?
nope, i don't think so.
this shirt has a stain on it,
what is that? lipstick, mascara?
take it back.
it'll wipe off, i tell her.
i don't care, she says,
we want clean clothes.

and this sweater has a loose
thread. look at that, one pull
and the whole thing unravels
and someone freezes to death.
i can't have that on my conscience.
we'll can't you just cut
it with a pair of scissors?
no.
i'm not a tailor, and
what's the deal with all
these shoes.

you got a shoe fetish or something
some of them look brand
new.
dude, you got some issues,
don't you?
and all this underwear you
stuffed into the bag.
men's, women's. you've got to
be kidding.