The Mountain

It rises into the sky,
and like 60's trip the colors are fiercely contrasting.
Do I look directly at it or am I too afraid?
My heart skips a beat, now two.
Breathing is labored more and more.

Sometimes I am a warrior and attack,
Most always I am proven a coward.
If only everyday was Sunday I would be okay,
Oh how I wish my resolve was unwavering.

Armed with only Gain and bleach I go into battle,
Separate colors and whites.
I lose nine tenths of the socks I wash,
And I grimace at the stubborn stain that did not come out.

One day they will invent disposable clothing,
I will buy it for my kids.
The washer and dryer will be but a distant memory,
but until then...into the mountain I will go.