reprise

reprise

call it satire,

how i fold 

tomorrow's shirt

with damp palms. 

creasing down 

the corners,

pressing them 

firmly. 

so that i can don 

yesterday's fervor,

proudly,

and pretend it is mine. 

turn the collar

inside out

so i can bite off 

those loose threads--

soft prickles 

bowing low. 

slowly, 

i tear, 

leaving split ends  

in their wake,

the little rows furrowed,

complementary, complacent.

call it satire, 

later, 

as i slip it

head on

in the morning--

devotion saturated,

lurid stripes. 

i had folded it neatly; 

i know i remember

last night.

and yet.

and yet 

i'll wear it, still. 

feel the fervor, 

to make it real.