The Joy of Ironing

by John Herlihy

Joy lies in ironing beautifully

Better than anyone else

Even if I do say so myself

But that’s not the point

The dried clean clothes

Sprayed with a fine mist

All wrinkled and disheveled

Indeed, needing to be ironed

The dress shirts, white and blue

The pajamas, the underwear

And the cotton handkerchiefs

Mustn’t forget the handkerchiefs

All wrapped in mist and then, yes

Placed bound tightly in a plastic bag

My mother taken ill with pneumonia

And off to the hospital on a trolley

This was what I could do for her

My father’s tee shirts and underpants

His white shirts, spray starched and damp

Ready for the hot dry, steam less iron

The sleeves, the cuffs, the collar

All done to a crisp perfection

Clean, wrinkle free and spotless

Ready to be worn fresh

A spray of scent as a final touch

And hung on a wooden hanger

Waiting to be worn by my father

Finally the beloved handkerchiefs

All wrinkled, damp and casta-bout

Flattened by the rigor of the hot iron

Then smoothed out to perfection

Not a wrinkle and ready for use

And yes, a spray of scent to boot

As I said, as a child I ironed beautifully

My mother got well and returned home

But I continued to do the ironing

To this day, I still do – iron beautifully.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Saturday 28 February 2026