I'm dirty. You've left trails
again, like I'm a carpet
and you've forgotten
to take off your boots,
but more like I'm lipstick,
Ravage-Me-Red, spat all over
your white collar.
Launder me long
enough to twist me tight
as a monkey's fist.
Take me out, shrunken
and soggy as a sock,
hang me in the backyard
where only the starlings
will see, let the sun
char me dizzy
and don't-know-any-better.
Iron crisp, starchy,
the wobbles in my throat,
stretch the sleeve
of my neck
on this board,
flatten each errant sob
before it can part my lips.
Mend the places that have
ripped and sprung leaks
that surge like screams.
Only you keep the needles
that can darn me; only you can pull
the string, slivered and spinal,
that can undo me
only so you can re-tie my knots
and alter me as you wish,
maybe this time without a mouth.