Oh, how I hate the fitted sheet
It has no head and has no feet
The flat sheet has a top and base
A length, a width, a certain grace.
Not so with the one that’s fitted
I swear it’s square the way it´s knitted
No matter how I place the thing
There is one edge that will not cling.
A quarter turn should do the trick
To line things up and tuck it quick
But no, of course, it’s still not right
I catch my breath, resume the fight.
Have I not tried this way before?
I’d better note the heretofore
The corners could be marked at least
O Theseus, pray, slay this beast.
I turn it back the other way
I twist and stretch, the sheet won’t stay
Did I mistake the bloody size –
A double in a queen’s disguise?
The cats look on in smug delight
Meowing at my growing plight
I thought they’d help me with the wrap
But as with them they´d rather nap.
And then at last, all sides are in
Yet staying there demands a pin
Because you see, the thing pops out
And then you have a second bout.
Why can’t I buy two flats in one
With way less stress, I’d all be done.
But two flats come at twice the cost
The fitted two, a leader’s loss.
I guess there are worse things in life
Belief in God or tart-tongued wife
But still the fitted makes me rue
A four-hand job and I just two.
Paul Heno September 2026
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