Upset the Fruit Basket

Poem after a second marriage

Topsy Turvy

I am ironing the shirts
Some other woman picked for you,
Sleeping on the sheets she bought,
Saying the same words to you she must have said,
Hearing the same words she must have heard.

I am scrubbing the floors some other man I loved laid down,
Polishing the mirror where I used to see his face;
Puzzling, puzzling,
How did life turn out this way?

Even after “Fruit Basket!” the game goes on
And so do we. And so do we.