This Can't Be Laundry Day, You Still Have Socks—And They Practically Match

The small possessors
Of the largest dressers
Have arrived to say
That it's laundry day.
Their drawers won't close,
But they have no clothes—
At least none there
That are fit to wear.

Their favorite shirty
Is smelly and dirty;
You suggest another,
And you get, "Oh, mother!"
It just doesn't go
With their jeans, you know.
But mention OTHER pants,
And hear a chorus of "I can't"s.

They've socks by the score
In their top dresser drawer,
But they say they can't mate 'em up,
Cuz the washer done ate 'em up.
And their only clean undies
They wear only on Sundays—
And on Sundays solely,
Because they're so holy.

So anytime it's
Time to wash knits,
Or jeans, or whites,
Or stockings and tights,
You wash them all dutifully
And dress them all beautifully,
Cuz the neighbors would stare
If they had to go bare.

                       —O. Laundrymous

                                                                      © 2004