Poetry of the washing machine

The washing machine
really doesn’t want
to wash my dirty
underwear

it wants to
walk down
the street
smiling

It wants to
break free
from its weighted
bottom

and run free
to the meadows
where weeds
live with the flowers

it wants to spit
out my socks
and jeans

and run free
screaming
swear words

The washing machine
knows poetry
as I do

I am guilty it is inanimate
and cannot escape

Well only in this poem

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “Poetry of the washing machine”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s