She was a chain-smoking bad-tempered drunk
beautiful, Irish, surly
but she could really fold clothes
She worked at the GAP
folded clothes all day
would arrive home
refold whatever i may have folded
and fold that which i had not
We lived on the floor without furniture
Bottles lined the walls
the ashtrays overflowed
there was no dresser or closet
and these folded clothes sat in neat little piles
along the walls
where bottles had not yet been placed
There were more than a few wrinkles in our relationship
but aside from the cigarette burns
our clothes looked good
and the creases for the most part
were where they belonged
making it easy
that last time i packed
— Larry Crist