Made Bed

Sometimes it’s the only thing right

with the world.

What we say is an excess

given to wrinkling,

crimps obscuring seams,

the way we act.

Nothing neat about that.

Now behold the power of

smoothed sheets, the reach

of a starched bed skirt draped

like Niagara airbrushed.

A small pillow rests dead center,

its perfect pintucks cooing

order, order.

--me