An Ode To The Washing Machine Poem by Daniel Y.

From the time I was a child
filled with curiosity and awe
I followed your rotation closely with my eyes.
Your magic must be hidden inside your metal box.
You stomp and shake about
and yell to those without.
Such violence with each slosh and thump, I wonder if you’re drowning.
But soon your tantrum resides
and my clothes are fresh... and damp.
No matter how I dirtied them, you scrubbed them clean.
You stand still, unmoved.
So long have you aided me. You never quit!
But now you’ve died, and I must buy anew.
Noble Washer!