Wee Scoops

Measure for Measure

Tumble Drier

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In the washing machine
I go round and around.
Spinning in silver,
by suds I’m surroun-

-ded, rotating; my face
squeaking hard on the glass.
I’m dizzy and waiting
for someone to pass.

I’m in a kaleidoscope
kitchen you see;
the colours are spiralling
spectacularly.

The round lens is chunky,
encased in the water.
The cycle’s “economy”;
I could not take much hotter.

An amphibious hamster
couldn’t want more:
a wet wheel of steel
a porthole for a door.

Like a cow on a spit
I am turned and I’m heated.
I am also soaked
and I’m cleaned and stain-treated.

I think I am done now.
A spin and a rinse;
and so now all I need
is a friend to convince

that I’m fit to come out.
I am clean (if quite queasy)
Because escaping this drum
on my own is not easy.

Cleansed of a day’s worth
of muck and of mire
I hope from this machine
I will soon tumble, drier.

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4 thoughts on “Tumble Drier

  1. I love the imagery of the cow on a spit! That was really good, put a smile on my face.

  2. Nice, did you write that from the last line up? Love the denouement.

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