My special job is to warm up somebody
they sometimes pull me, often stretch me
I swing on the line, at clothes-hanging time
and if it starts to rain, they come and fetch me.
I don’t like getting wet, I want to hide
my favourite spot, the tumble dryer
so snug and warm, when I’m inside
I love it when they turn it higher.
After I’m worn for a while, it’s a woolen-wash
then pegged up, to hang, dodging snow and rain
food gets spilt on me, they really don’t care
and stink! . . it’s that awful perfume, again.
Ooh, look, I’m in for a quick-wash
now I’m hanging out, in a Winter moon
I never really feel the cold of night
‘cos I’m a three-ply, cable-knit cocoon.
I await my owner’s comfy hands,
to unpeg me, carefully fold me, then
back in my big drawer, to rest, until
they decide to put me on, again.
I’m back on the line again, soon
but not next to the knickers and bras
they all seem to go together
but, me, I’m only Granpa’s.
V. Bean
