#2,447 Ironing Day

My ironing board takes each
press as if unsteadiness was
designed into its stance – as
heated linen & steam merge
as a history [constantly] – air
weighted by recall – Sunday
hung out with blue uniform
shirts – school & police – five
men to flatten with her iron
[steam-piss & complaint] as
my mother took our creases
from her line-filled basket &
summoned as-new-collars –
her re-shape of all coverings
& costumes – that week-end
re-set of male-worn shames