Free to a good home, one ironing board.



My ironing board enacts strange rituals
Away from his friend the iron.

Always so firm,
so seemingly solid.
Yet when the legs are kicked out
He collapses – folds in on himself.

Oh ironing board
You are redundant in my hands
I’d rather use the table
Than a rickety, untrustworthy,
Flimsy
Ironing board.

Never quite
The right
height, width or use.

I’ll take my chances without you
With my new friend, Kitchen Table.
Far more solid and reliable.

Multi-use object.

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