Monday, December 19, 2016

Front loading nightmare

This strange creature in my room 

Cleans my clothes 

Maybe it has little goblins in it 

That survive on water and detergent 

There must be a whole city inside 

Of tiny demons that wait every week 

For their supply of filthy tributes

That they clean and spit out

I refuse to believe in electricity, sir

There is a goblin city inside this machine 

They wait and pine till I shake off laziness

And give them some dirty clothes to clean  

Every year the servicing magician comes over 

To replace goblins that have expired

He fills up the machine with a new population

That the wizards at IFB have hired

Sometimes I hear the machine tick at night 

As goblins dream of revolutions

But then I remember my dirty clothes

And shove them in the machine with cleaning solutions 

Maybe some day the goblins will emerge

From the bowels of machines all over the world 

If they don't find enough clothes to clean

Maybe they'll take over this earth. 


Sending poems from phone makes their text size weirdly large. Bear with me, dear readers. 

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