While Doing LaundryA Poem by e.renoldisurreal in the mundaneWanna hear a riddle? He eyes lit with a clever smile.
My hand rests on the laundry basket,
basking in the idea that I’m actually not
touching clothes.
He picks up a shirt: See? This is a shirt, I’m not touching
it. Magnetic fields.
That’s the coolest thing he’s heard,
besides the dress that changes colors.
It’s all about lighting I say. He laughs while I move the basket to my
hip.
He shows me a picture on his phone: See? This picture it’s black, this one
it’s blue. Eyes.
I can’t see
and I can’t touch. .... Than how do
we know what colors are shirts feel
like?
He yells at
me running out the door: We don’t. © 2017 e.renoldi |
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Added on April 9, 2017 Last Updated on April 9, 2017 |