Laundry List Sonnet

It has recently been suggested that I'm the kind of crazy bastard who would write his laundry lists in sonnets.  Well, it's all true--I confess.

Ye Olde Laundry List Sonnet:

My sweatshirts--prithee wash them cold with jeans.

(This last instruction should'st not be forgot.

Learned I when I was barely in my teens,

"Hand puppets" they become if washed too hot.)

And then my briefs--they number seven each.

Such briefs once sized to gird my youthful butt,

(Please wash them hot and do not spare the bleach)

Now  briefs too brief to span an aging gut.

And shirts, whose very image doth depress,

Their manufacture steeped in human sorrow;

Song of the Shirt, Triangle fire, and yes

In Bangladesh, our past is their tomorrow.

When finished with my socks, thou may'st inquire

If one lone stocking lurketh in the dryer.