Wonder Fabrics Make Me Wonder

I BOUGHT a petticoat today — uncreasable, unsquashable,
Immersible, reversible, unshrinkable and washable.

According to the ticket, if a spot should dare to show on it
I merely have to drag it through the faucet once and blow on it.

While laundry starches languish and the flatiron sits unheated.
The tucks will stay all smugly snug and permanently pleated.

Though I suppose this petticoat is pretty much a miracle,
I tend to grow more skeptical as labels grow more lyrical.

Besides the fact I lose the tags required for modern laundering,
The fickleness of underwear has kind of set me pondering.

With each new, sneaky fabric-name, my mind gets more uneasy.
I only want some honest cloth that’s durable or sleazy.

I view as Counter-Irritants the garment clerks who smile on me
And scoff at silk and cotton as they super-orlon-nylon me.

I miss the days when no one strove to make a girl or fella wear
The shifting wonder-underclothes they dream up down in Delaware.