Oh, mighty white domestic thing,
I love the way you fit my decor,
And how you make the laundry swing,
Inside your round and glassy door.
Day in, day out, I take you for granted.
Just mindlessly put some laundry through.
But when my son stares at you, enchanted,
It makes me think: without you, what would I do?
When I was young, and we were poor,
By hand I washed, rinsed, wrung: it took so long!
The torture that my hands had to endure...
'cause Grandma thought child labour wasn't wrong.
About the Creator
Sasha Desideri
Philosopher, adventurer, mother, and occasionally words-lover
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More stories from Sasha Desideri and writers in Poets and other communities.
Insurances
When I was asked to move from the big city of Philly halfway across the country to the small town of Centerville, OK, I was excited for the new start and the new job. My insurance company offered me a promotion to move because I'm young and unattached. I was to be one of two agents in the branch.
By Julie Lacksonen5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Goodness, Sasha. What started as quite a "fun" and whimsical ode turned rather deeper and poignant by the end. Well done on this entry.