the ’70’s,
the age of polyester.

a decade
where irons
rested quietly
in the cupboards
of laundry rooms
all over America.

a time
when ironing boards became utility tables or bench tops
where piles
of laundry rested
ready to be sorted.

I’m not too sure why I have such a sensory attachment
to the smell
of a hot iron being dragged across cotton.

for me, the smell
falls only
slightly behind
the comforting aroma of hot buttered toast, freshly manicured baseball diamonds,

and dogs
who have come
in from the rain.


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