Poetry Wives Really Want to Hear...

A co-worker and I were discussing dating history and such and the idea of poetry came up. After some joking back and forth we thought how funny it would be to create poetry real wives would rather hear than mushy crap that doesn't get anything done around the house.

In that spirit, here's the first poem lovingly titled:

My Underwear, Your Love
By Pete Bauer

You found me crumpled and damp and stuffed behind the bathroom door
You washed me, you folded me
And you put me back home.

You found me next to the couch, by the empty bowl of chips, on top of the TV remote
You washed me, you folded me
And you put me back home.

You found me on the tree limb in the front yard after a vomit-inducing bachelor party
You washed me, you folded me
And you put me back home.

Despite the many indignities you have suffered on my behalf
You have always found me, and loved me
And you put me back home.

That is, until my elastic band got washed too much and you threw me into a pile in the garage
Where you sprayed me and crumpled me
And I dusted your home.

Then I was forgotten and eaten by bugs and got holes and stained and was called a rag
And you examined me and folded me
And threw me from your home.

Even though I now sit under twelve metric tons of waste in the town landfill on the other side of town
I'll remember how you found me and loved me
When I called his dresser home