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It starts with an innocent pick of a stitch

Then a color drop similar to a small white lie

A stain plops from this nonchalant scab

Then off comes the frazzling buttons and tie

Less care sneaks a peak at the small shiny skin

The graveling unraveling secret begins


So hard pressed was this shirt

With dancing steps of starch

Sprayed in those nights of never lasting

Nearer death by hamper closet dark


Thrown to the army of salvation

To die in a yellowish mildew smell

Youthful eyes meat conspiring

Inspires a boys escape from hell

The fit was perfect for a lying lad


And so it goes to the outcast

From that cynics chest as he neared his last

Reincarnated onto the laughing louder younger chest

Beautifully stained with life’s colorful chowders

Pressing with starch the iron and all his power

Voted best in buried beachwear at the light house festival

When death finally came it was so very hot and peaceful


The oceans breeze gave creed to a shirt so freshly freed

The flooded floor cleans the mess next to the lads exit door

The shirt was torn like a well worn murder thesis

But in the end it was happy

Being a shirt worn to pieces


He buried the shirt after dressing it

In a newly acquired foul scented vest

Quoting his older brothers eight finger phase

I love doing laundry it’s the latest craze