I remember that striped shirt.
The one my father wears.
My little baby had barfed
all over mine,
so he gave me one of his
from the dirty laundry.
It had smelled…
of generic male deoderant.
Not the most
sentimental
of shirts.
And he’s still wearing it.
Maybe my baby should have barfed
all over him
instead.
Author T.S. Lowe 