(Inspired by Friendly Dry Cleaners)
The spot and soil of garments
grinding through,
The
slipping gears of fruitless interviews,
Of
celebration's stresses, tears and wine,
the
stains of formal folly fixed by time,
From
mourning loss, to morning workaday,
The
cleaner's magic makes all marks erased,
Our
garden party armor shall return,
Without a
memory's curse, with nothing learned,
All odors
lifted- gone, crumbs of regret.
Our
finest failings fade, and we forget.
And
wrapped in plastic, clear protective skins,
Our
chrysalis transformed, reborn, begins.