I love to shop, shoes and books,
but the thought of working in Retail?
I’d rather slit my wrists with a hanger.
And hangers are why.
When I hang my things I can see:
1 white long-sleeve T-shirt
2 white short-sleeve T-shirts
3 white tank tops
Same T-shirts neatly folded and stacked:
1 I can’t tell what’s in the pile
2 I waste time rummaging through the pile
3 The pile is no longer neatly stacked.
But hangers leave dimples
(only cute on Shirley Temple),
and anything with straps gang-chains
hangers, entwines them like lovers, like wrestlers.
Perhaps the patience angels
see me lose mine as I heave
the plastic and metal to the floor
with a strangled yell.
My fear of hell isn’t fire and brimstone.
It’s an eternity of sorting a warehouse-
size box of hangers
after a one-day sale at Kohl’s.