the care in a mothers clothes iron

she checks her sons pockets for change and gold coated lockets before tossing his trousers and collared shirts in the wash
she folds each pair inside out and sets the water to cold
she inspects his whites for signs of stains when the dryers' bell tolls
with her long hair tied up, untidy
her nimble fingers fold his clothes ever so gently
she hums to herself and smiles with pride
thinking of the work he'll do with these clothes on his back
she puts extra care into washing his business wear
for she knows how anal he is about wrinkles
pulling out her iron she rests his shirts there and with slow movements straightens them with care
he comes out from behind her, chewing an evening snack and mumbles a thank you
he places a kiss on her cheek and she wonders to herself:
"how lucky could I be?"
with a warm smile she places a hand on his shoulder and watches it slide down as he walks away