The Washing Machine


Standing against the wall,
Waiting to be fed again.
Demanding its daily dose
Of fabric once lovingly pressed
Only to be worn for a while
Then carelessly tossed aside

Its hungry maw will close
And wash and rinse and spin.

I will then do the ironing,
They will do the wearing
and the careless throwing.
I will feed it and start
Our shared and endless cycles
Again and tomorrow and the day after.

J.E.McL dec 1989

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