Even though
They were clean,
He put them in the washing machine.
No longer frowned
As he watched them go round.
After a minute and a half
He started to laugh
And continued to grin
As he watched them spin.
He took them out
Still slightly damp,
Hung them up beside his lamp.
And laughed out loud
While they were drying.
Or was he laughing?
Was he crying?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem