Ode to My Washer-Dryer

by on March 18, 2024 :: 0 comments

Stacked in a closet, heart of our ranch house,
you run through the night while I grade papers
read clickbait chew gum to stay awake.

Washer, you take all my clothes, even
the new pale green shirt that looks like silk.
Washed in cold water it doesn’t fade doesn’t tear.

Dryer, you take out wrinkles. I can trust
my linen pants to you. They will not shrink.
Even in hot weather I will glide to Metro.

Thirty years ago I would have dragged out
the iron Mom gave me, put in a little water
plugged it in and waited and waited.

I feared the iron’s mark on white silk blouses
black linen skirts. I feared the wrinkles
that co-workers with spiral curls would see.

But we own a house. I teach school. No time
for irons, no time for makeup. Our machine
thrums past midnight, steady heart of our house.

Never used, a small Ikea ironing board
leans against stacks of slides
and board games in our shed.

editors note:

The things we need to keep life wrinkle-free (and the things we don’t). – mh clay

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