off the line

Some days she feels exposed:
inside out, for the taking,
like undergarments hung to dry,
queued up to be inspected.

And who stands in judgment
of her frocks? Who amongst
us readies attack, spin cycle
heady and out of control?

Our times are of violence;
she wants to savor something.
Unfastening the wash, she folds,
tucks it away for safekeeping,

But it’s impossible to unclench
the fist gripping milled fabric,
its texture like her tongue:
Some days she feels, exposed. 

Fireblossom asked the Real Toads to write a poem in which the first and last lines are the same but their meanings are different.