Sunday, December 06, 2020

Wash Day

Mom's old wringer washer was an ominous contraption,

Back porch dweller, silent sentinel.

But wash day saw it spring to life

With reckless wild abandon,

A fire-breathing dragon sent from hell.

 

Water drawn from nearby well

To feed her empty belly,

Carried pail by pail 'til she was full.

Grinding agitation as she

Mauled her fabric diet,

Everything from silk to scratchy wool.

 

Mother's little helpers would

Complain and run away,

Much too busy for such mundane tasks.

Totally exasperated, trudging on ahead,

She'd grit her teeth and don her mother's mask.

 

Washing, wringing, rinsing, ringing,

Ringing once again,

Seemed a never-ending carousel.

Difficult but necessary,

Mom did not complain.

She tamed the weekly dragon sent from hell.

Lulu Storefront: http://www.lulu.com/dsmartin

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