Laundry

Dirty and smelly is the colorful pile
—it has been sitting there for quite a while.
Each day after dark, it grows in size and shapes,
it is resting there—in the basket—and waits.
Elegant are some, others for sports, or intimacy,
all get now together, without any secrecy.
Neither drawer, hanger, mirror, nor eye
is now observing, or judging—time for a relieved sigh.
Then, telling stories are the colors, collars, bottoms and shirts.
including gossip from socks, scarves, slips, and skirts,
about the world they’ve seen, inside and out.
And the Now, the Gone and the About.
Expecting the day that inevitably comes,
the Saturday morning (or afternoon at times),
they all laugh and whisper: the excitement rises.
finally they are divided in colors—not sizes.
Rumors are anxiously spread within the new
that the water is cold and the air so few.
but older ones smile and nod, they agree:
better than option “trash bag”—they all are still free.
Giant as always, the first sight truly scares,
The machine’s big mouth is the reason for fears.
It is so wide open, white and ready to start,
Oops! They are falling and then: ready to depart.
Emerging from slowly to faster speed,
the trip now begins—the experienced ones lead.
Water comes raining down, so soapy and warm,
the doubts now are leaving: there is surely no harm.
Numerous cycles spin the fabric around.
Their screaming in laughter gets killed by the sound,
which finally stops as the water descends,
all is pushed to the outside, enemies and friends.
Together they dry up high in a line
on hangers and clothespins, it all looks so fine!
Folded and grouped are they then surely as well,
Ahh! How fresh and clean all of them finally smell!