Yes, wash eyes, limbs, but for another
style of living, I would have known hot
water or cold is best for splashing about
tubs of determined detergents.
They were calm, these detergents -
now mixing transgressions, dry becomes
soaking, becomes spinning classes -
cancelled for lack of dirt, mud or else.
It works to the advantage of machines
driving out grime, throwing arms in
treacherous mimic - it knows by mnemonic
device the order of water, water and spin.
A circle, so perfect a chair for laundry
piling high to human speed, wearing down
clothes, wearing and discarding to remedy -
it takes another skewer to close and ignore
mountains of water.
They come at a rush, they in precise falls,
mixing, raining inches we go and see how
clever it fills to degree, to makeshift flood -
and filling, to drain to the sea.
Still deep, it slices to none but feathers,
delicate waves, but the tidal pulls ashore
waiting oddly, for humans, for clothing
we once wore, we wash again.
© 2013 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.