Tumble-dry

I’ve always enjoyed doing laundry, in a strange way. I’ve not had a passion for it, per se, but fabrics always tell a great story. Personally, I think that this is one of my poems that has managed to have a more developed story. At the very least, it outlives a moment.

 

I’ve been through it all,

Your entire load.

Bleached sweat from starched collars

And traced every monogram you’ve sewed.

Scrubbed the maternity clothes when they came,

(Probably knew before your parents did)

Sudded the soft yellow onesie stains,

Knew every morsel you’d fed your kid.

Always knew when times were tight

And there wasn’t quite enough to go around –

Thumbed the holes darned in little socks and gloves,

And lathered every hand-me-down you’d found.

I revelled in the joy that was sparkling

In every bright button on your new sweater.

Read the pride embossed on designer labels

And the unseen scarlet letter.

Saw the sizes grow and shrink

Until, one day, when all you gave was black

And the very next time, that you came,

Only two sets out of three came back.

.

.

.

For the voyeurs in us

2 thoughts on “Tumble-dry”

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