A Laundry Basket's Lament

One day a laundry basket felt rather full. Heavy. Weighted. Lots of mixtures tumbled together. Not placed. Just thrown in. In no order. How could it be that the ironing board had nice neat piles whilst he the dutiful laundry basket had a mish mash assortment of colours and fabrics. Strewn. Some even caught in his lovely sides. He considered them elegant. But sometimes he had been left in a kitchen and a pig had gone past him and oinked at him and left rather a nasty smell. Always a smell. Even when the clothes came from William washing machine they had a strange aroma. Oh dear. Must find a way to get outside and stay outside. The clitter clatter arrival of the pans spoke the time. Dinner. Great. Here they all are. Trudging past me. Overlooked. Kicked out of the way by the younger ones. Filled I sit till that lady puts the clothes in. But William is broke and badly needs draining which will mean a very wet floor. Great. Well at least the clothes can be thrown down to absorb some of William's waste. It must be a paper packet that has stuck in a pipe. Put in a pocket. Or one of those bright bags that goes out with that dog. I like that dog. He does not woof at me or growl. He always is smiling. Now I sleep. It takes ages for them to cook. I assume it will be tommorow that I am upstairs all day. But for tonight I will rest here on this kitchen stool. And I do hope the pig does not snore too loud. Sweet dreams all. Love from the laundry basket. X