As I put on this aloha shirt
I notice the collar’s not been ironed right
Something my old eyes didn’t catch
In small kid time
My mother tried to teach me to iron
So I could take over another chore she had no time for
Try as I might
I could do a better job of pressing wrinkles in rather than out
But she would heap praise on me to push my taking over
And I took pride in my work because of that praise
Felt I had developed a flair for ironing
Even though it was plain for a less objective eye to see I’d not
But when I finally lived on my own
And had grown old enough to care about wrinkled shirts
I became an ironing pro
I was a hunter who’d ramble the woods in search of prey
Here a bear or there a deer that needed to be flattened
Pressed out of existence by my deft hand
I’ve aged full circle hunched now over the ironing board
And I can hear my mother’s anxious voice urging me on
As I only see with difficulty the wrinkles I press in again
Lanning Lee 