Poem - Washing Day

Near noon the good ship Laundry Belle

Set sail from Washing Harbour.

A southwester blowing affably like butcher's banter,

Tufts of bread, white clods for the sea birds,

Rolling and bobbing on the green waves.

"All hands on deck!

Hoist the main sail!"

And up it goes, floral polyester applauding the wind,

Slapping the mast with a wet passion.

The captain stands defiant by the rigging,

Peg-shaped cutlass clamped tight between zealous teeth,

Hearing the ocean crash into the beech trees

Like the rushing of leaves in a spring gale.

"Ah ye landlubbers, ye Marks and Spencer's size 10 ladies briefs,

Yen te jump ship, ye scurvy mongrels?

Aye an' al string yer up by yer gusset

On the jib".

Delinquents secured to the heaving rope,

Onward she ploughs through an afternoon of sunshine,

This bold, bright suburban galleon.

And come four o’clock, the duvet cover’s dry.

Wrote this after pretending to be among the sails on a galleon while pegging out the family laundry on a windy day. No, I haven't grown up yet :)

2015 Copyright Mir Fleur