in the bathroom
washing
her underwear in the sink.
scrubbing madly
with a bar of ivory
soap.
you can use
the washing machine,
i tell her,
poking my head
in the door.
maybe the gentle cycle,
cold water?
i don't trust the washer,
she says.
these are my only three
pairs
of underwear,
and they were
a special gift from
someone
i still love
and would have
married
if he ever left his
beautiful wife.
i can't risk losing them
in your washing
machine.
do you understand?
Umm, no,
not really.
but i'll be downstairs
getting your meds
ready.
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