The Wife Admits All

by Carol Townsend

You would think that you, Old Nasty
Garment, was his girlfriend by how

he wraps himself in you, and you, cut
off at the elbows, stretched out of shape,

disgusting in your daily crust of break–
fast, lunch, and dinner. So tattered,

torn and stained, Suds Sucker, shame
on you for turning my husband into

a geezer. For that, you will not be for–
given. To tell the truth, I do glare at him

when he tries to sneak out of the house
attired in you. When I hear the garbage

truck round the corner, I cajole him
to do the deed himself. Like a pet about

to be put down, you might be consoled
that way. But no, he refuses. Be assured

that I am not jealous for I am not being
dumped for a decrepit pullover. After all,

my skin is more lovely than your sallow
complexion. But, don’t let him know that

I tolerate you out of the fear, Oh Ancient
Adversary, that one day I will find my

nose buried deep in you, breathing him
in, remembering fondly his past foibles.