I stand agitated before my dust specked
closet mirror,
turning the band of elastic sewn into the
bottom of a sweater,
for reasons that escape
anyone who isn't
a sweatshop accountant
or sweating in the lamp light
of a department store
fashion line design studio
based out of Kentucky,
and I wanted to be upset about
the errant loops and snapped hairs of polyester
where the shoulder seam
meets the body seam,
but your relaxed reflection is watching me
dress myself in the mirror
from the living room
not quite full of morning sun
and of the two of us,
I don't want to be the one throwing tantrums
on a Thursday
before the coffee has
even gotten a chance to percolate.
After long minutes
of looking for a right angle
to view a poor excuse for a sweater
that falls around me like an off colored squash
in a child's crayon illustration of the first Thanksgiving
I have to admit,
while taking it off,
"you actually did me a favor."
