Folding Sheets at Mel's - A Poem by Patty Mooney

Grandma said,
Never trust a man
with gap teeth
and yet
here I am
working at Mel's
Massage Parlor
conveniently located
off Highway 5
overlooking
Mission Bay.

I plunge
my hands
into a basket
of sheets hot
from the dryer
and begin to fold.

When I was fourteen
and crying
in the hallway
struggling with
a King-size sheet
Dad taught me how
to square up
the corners
and compact
that Percale.

Mel's twin sheets
are floral,
camouflaging
coconut oil spots.

Three masseuses
each give seven
massages a day;
washer and dryer
cough out
a lot of cotton.

I stuff
my stack of linen
in the closet
then head to my room
where the auto mogul
from Mile of Cars,
the Honest one,
awaits
under a clean sheet.
He comes
in every week,
requesting me.

When I have him
on his back
he will once again
ask if I give extras.
Once again
I will tell him no.

As published in Acorn Review, 9/02

Photo credit: "Folded Flat Sheet" by Jennifer Helen