Washing Machine Poem by James McLain
Washing Machine
Behind the old yellow washing machine
that makes loud noises
as coins roll along the floor
some are dropped while others
and bending over picking them up
Too support myself some land upon
both hands you held out
looking through the closed window
I think about it all
as the soap washes faces never rinsed
dripping, flowing and spinning around
they are never clean until they are gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/7/2024 5:46:26 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Do not grumble -iip, , that your machine already grow old, and cannot twist already without noise, instead of- old washing machine can make from your fifth-cent - the home rapper