My clothes are all allies now.
They want to form a union
to fight static cling, lobby against
cat fur and cheap wire hangers.
They’ve resorted to blackmail.
My cardigan smells faintly of dog
but I can’t take it off because
my thin white shirt only veils
my turquoise bra,
on a sunny day.
I've mended this tight black skirt twice
and instead of thanks I get
threatening hisses when I bend.
My defeat will come at the hands of
Marvin the Martian underwear.