Oil and cotton

There’s a fleck of sunset on his dun-brown coat,

the one he wants to wash on cotton.

She’s on the other side of the Pond – his wife,

that is. We had our fun, but I wasn’t wife

material – too hot-headed. I take the coat,

hang it to drip on the paravent, a wood and cotton

frame. Over the years, I’ve cottoned

on to him; a gentle, ornery soul. I’m glad he’s found a wife

though life is far from simple (he never sugarcoats

it). I get his coat. Explain the cotton cycle. Applaud his wife.


(Honoree, The Binnacle Annual Ultra-short Competition, Fall edition 2016.)