Washing Machines

I saw you, in secret.
In my head we are in glad rags,
And holding hands.

The green on the knees of your skinny jeans,
Faded in the washing machine,
Me from your memory.

I cut down our oak tree by the bayou.
It was too big to fit in the trunk of my car,
So I fed it to the river.

I’m stuck in that afternoon,
When I yelled out goodbye,
But you were too far to hear me.

I’m the same now, but,
I burn my stained clothes now,
Because I'm fucking terrified-

Of washing machines.