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(24 January 1961 / South Africa)

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Washing Machine Albeit So Weird

I do not trust the long rinse and spin cycle of the
washing machine, loud and insane, scrunch up
the washing, making careful hanging to obviate
ironing impossible; I always interfere in rinsing-
spinning since washing machines have been
designed by demons bent on torturing humans

My distrust of all kinds of machines; except my
adorable laptop who takes every word it is fed
and returns it to me in the script I like; led to my
never using a dishwasher, an evil device that
runs in unfathomable cycles driving me crazy
with uncertainty about objects and motives

And degree of cleanliness; therefore I turn the
kitchen radio to Radio Pretoria (because they
play German music, the bedroom radio stays
tuned to FM Classic, TV alternating between
Nat Geo Wild and Deutsche Welle while the
big screen TV remains on sports channels)

And wash the dishes by hand; - I forgot to
add detergent when washing Tiaan’s dusty
clothes two washes ago, somehow I hold an
irrational belief washing should require little
detergent if any– and the washing machine
did not remind me – hah! – point is

While it is impossible to wash by hand, my
wrists go numb as I scrub and twist - the
washing machine is a strange invention
that refuses to wash in a way I can
understand - but I shall always use
it, albeit so weird…

Submitted: Monday, December 26, 2011
Edited: Sunday, February 05, 2012


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Comments about this poem (A Fool He Was by Margaret Alice Second )

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  • Dave Walker (12/26/2011 12:10:00 PM)

    Like it. Have you noticed another thing about
    Washing machines, as soon as the warranty runs out
    It breaks down. A great poem.
    May i invite you to read my new poem called,
    For Paul Blackburn. Its a true story.

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