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Washboard Waltz

Is a washboard musical when scrubbing socks on its metal ribbons?
The woman in the basement was not aware of anything other
than the soap suds, steamed-up windows and the sense of hopelessness
when working on a Saturday, a day of rest from the factory floor.
Other women, too, did laundry day, gave her a feeling of pride
to see her washing on the line was cleaner than theirs.
She sat by the window in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the washing
smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from a mug with her name
and wondered if children knew her name was other than Mum!
She had to look out for the weather, May when it can suddenly rain
If it clouded over, she would take the clothes in, even if they were
only half dry, put them on the kitchen table and wait.
She had boiled the potatoes with the skin on, healthier she had 
told the children; she had to do was to open the mackerel in oil  
she had nicked at work; heat, the canned fish call the children
the children would mash the mackerel and potatoes on their plates 
to an unsightly mess, hastily eat, and run back into the street again 
where a ball game was going on.
The rain kept away clothes that could hang on the line till morning 
before taking them in, she liked the smell of the sun and hygiene.
On Sunday, she would get the children up early, give them slices 
of bread with sugar on it and sent them out to play, ah, the peace 
she could open a magazine and read about famous people.

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