I went down to the laundry room and couldn’t help but stare
At the girls I found in front of me, folding underwear.
Some time had passed, I think, since they last washed their clothes down there
For judging by their scanty dress they hadn’t much to wear.
Their t-shirts clung upon their chests and left their midriffs bare,
Their legs were hardly hidden save for hugging boxer pairs.
The two of them stood straight before me, beautiful and fair
(Another type would call them hot, but poets wouldn’t dare).
They bent down to their baskets and they stacked their clothes with care,
And when they rose so rose my stead as they threw back their hair.
I strutted towards the sexy sirens, flaunting all my flair,
Assuring myself both their hearts would be mine to ensnare.
To finish up this story of my failure –oh so rare-
I’ll skip the rest and leave you with this lesson I can share:
The next time that you court someone I beg you to beware
That you hold not a laundry bag of stained brown underwear.
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