A Poem After Ironing...

I'd like to say there are no wrinkles in Heaven,
But even St. Peter can't exorcise a crease.
No, no.
The robe of an angel or saint rising from knelt prayer
Will be just as wrinkled as if they'd done it on a
New Jersey turnpike.
No; there are still wrinkles in Heaven.
It's just that there, nobody cares.

Out