“Out, out, damn spot”
was shouted at the stained shirt
spattered with jam.
The preserve reserving the right of preservation
against the onslaught of mindless rubbing.
Spit, spat to clean as miraculous oral detergent
instead smearing from spot to massive mark.
Deep red turning to translucent rose,
a huge polka dot of pink,
Fragranced with sweetened strawberry.
Hidden by a hasty cardigan,
slung on with hope abandoned.
The wool that could hide all the world’s worries,
as long as they were about jam.