One of our first columns, published in 2005, had to do with a pair of high-heeled red shoes, and some trouble they brewed up, and now, at last, we have a pink pantsuit to go along with those dangerous pumps. This delightful poem is by Nancy Simpson, who lives in North Carolina.
It hangs around the wardrobe
for days, dull,
or reclines in the hamper
like a flattened flamingo.
I wash it in soft water.
I give it new life, and what thanks?
It walks out the door with my legs,
through the gate,
headed straight for the racetrack.