I wash the clothes and fold them, neat dried.
A deep inhale of breeze perfume or artificial flowers –
I will no longer pick socks and pants and shirts and pyjamas and jeans and towels
off the floor. Especially towels.
This you know.
Bring them – it’s not far, a moment’s work
A difficult moment, it seems.
Through the gap at your door, I see
the mountain is growing, spreading,
threatening to flood the landing, dribble down the stairs.
I yearn to stop it – deluge defence laundry basket
But I can’t:
Don’t nag, you said.
I’ll do it, you said.