Ode to a Purple Washcloth

Ode to a purple washcloth in the second-floor shower
(First in a series of poetry on living in a co-op community)

O my purple washcloth, where art thou now?
Once again I leave you hanging high
High above my head, on the shower door
Out of sight, out of mind
in the morning rush.

You are not large of stature, unmissable
like the purple towel
You are not a risk for much embarrassment
like left-behind underpants
No, you are mostly benign
and too often thus you suffer my neglect

Hours later you are lying there
And I, unawares
Go to use the toilet and look up;
there you are
where I left you;
Memory jogged, I bring you home

Only to lose you again the next day.

Le Anne
(owner of a set of purple bath linens)