Photo by Sergey Filippov (Pexels)
Laundry
Heather D Haigh
Can’t love it, can’t loathe it, not even a bit.
As a matter of course, just do it
When your three-year-old toddler wants to be helpful too
So your fresh pile of ironing gets shoved down the loo
While you refill the washer, don’t turn the air blue
Just do it
When you peg out that load, while rubbin’ your back
And the washing line snaps with a ruddy great crack
And you’re hit in the face by a flapping t-shirt
And it all comes to rest in the mud and the dirt
And your kid claps his hands shouting, ‘Do it again.’
Take a deep breath, count to ten, then pick up the lot,
Just do it
When your best knickers gets nicked by next door’s mutt
And your neighbour returns them—smile sweetly, don’t tut
And your worst one’s end up on your toddler’s head
While he runs down the street yelling ‘No want bed.’
And the sight of that gussett turns you bright red
Don’t run home, curl up, and wish you were dead,
Grab toddler, and knickers—dead nifty instead
And walk back tall—you can do it
When the washer conks out and floods the kitchen
No point wailing, no point bitchin’
And the tumble dryer bursts into flames
No point kickin’ it and callin’ it names
And the repair guy says he can’t come till next week
Don’t threaten his man parts with somethin’ bleak
But remember the laundrette down Milner Way
And next door the Chinese takeaway
Don’t be feeling guilty at splurging a bit
You’ve earned a break
Just do it
Heather is a sight-impaired spoonie and emerging working-class writer from Yorkshire. She is lucky enough to have found a wonderful local poetry group and it currently working on developing her poetry. She has had poems published by Dark Winter Lit, The Serulian, and Anansi Archives, and can also be heard doing a dodgy recital on BBC uploads.
Website: https://haigh19c.wixsite.com/heatherbooknook
IG: @heatherbooknook