Underwear Undertaking
I stand naked in front of my underwear drawer. Jammed and overflowing, briefs and boxers.
Who should I choose? The newbies I got for Christmas? Or my old loyal friend?
You’ve always been my favorite, but I dread getting in a wreck with you. Your fabric is threadbare. It pulls away from your elastic.
You’ve served your time, done your duty.
You deserve better than the dumpster, and I can’t exactly flush you down the toilet.
Nor can I drive through the countryside and throw you out the window, and hope a farmer will find you and give you a good home.
One day perhaps, old and thin, you will simply vanish in the dryer’s lint trap.
All good underwear goes to heaven.