Joan of D’ark and Dirty
Laundry is the great monsterMommy wrestles; her eternal foe.Every day, long tentacles flailing from theHamper, dripping ooze in the form ofSocks and spotted onesies, by the pound.She hacks at it, vigorously sorting its many limbsInto piles: whites, darks, reds.She rises periodically from the latest fray,Ceremoniously mounting the stairs,A badge of crisp pillowcase on her arm.She strategizes the endless new advance,Not faltering in the face of the grim smellsOf covert hand grenades the enemy leavesMoldering in the depths of the diaper bag.We are polished, lest the monster take our very skinsAnd admonished sternly of his wily waysShe sprays over us her protective elixirs:Tide (jumbo, extra concentrated)And Shout, in little rhythmic squirts.Laundry sometimes roars and beats Its chestRattling the floorboards with the throaty,Conquering cry of a monster that hasBoldly taken our last dish towel to his bowels.But, Mommy rallies with a Monday morning war cry.There is a great clanging of machine lids andThe sound of lusty Patsy Cline yodeling from the basementAnd before we know it, Laundry is only a simperingTrio of washcloths and a single pair of underwearSlinking there behind the dryer hose.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Poetry Friday: A Laundry Poem
Today, a laundry poem that I chuckled while writing, because I am working on my own mountain between attacking the last of the last of the moving boxes. And we all need a little touch of comic relief + heroism now and then, don't we? Sometimes it is just the thing.