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.)