IVORY FLAKES
As one hand gives, the other takes
Laundry can be both a task and joy
Yet when an imposition, can annoy
And all remaining respect, destroy
Washday is not merely Ivory Flakes
Clean those clothes, for all our sakes
If overdue, laundry becomes urgent
A minor issue, a choice of detergent
The needs and wants are convergent
So don’t delay with the Ivory Flakes
More stocking wear from Ivory Flakes
A product with other uses, you know
And used in movies as artificial snow
Swirling all around as fans would blow
But there were and are, other makes
The Friday that is here today
was here yesterday, of course.
That's what getting older seems to be, to do:
today was yesterday
was the day before
and before.
It's my weekly washday today -
weekly, but was here yesterday,
or so it appears.
Always appears to be.
Yes, so it seems,
and seems.
Time is a concertina.
Friday was a week from Friday,
then three or four days
before those days closed in,
closed in, closer and closer.
A concertina can squeal and whine.
(21 Oct 2023)
The washing’s all done
But it’s raining outside,
The coal fire is burning
So I sneak in to hide
Between fireplace
And clothes horse,
The fireplace being
The only heat source.
A refuge of warmth on
A cold winter’s day
‘Til mam comes to find
And chase me away.
The washing is paramount,
Essential to be dried
And I absorbed the heat
By lying there inside.
A game of hide and seek
Trying to judge just when
Mam wasn’t looking
So I could sneak in again.
Those draughty old houses
With no central heating
And my cosy little tent
Just took some beating.
A fact of life then that
No matter how we tried
We sat there in the cold
Until the washing was dried.
Those good old days weren’t
Quite so good it seems,
But memory is selective
When filling day dreams.
Equinox—the sun
Bright—shining—washday hang-out
September's closing
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.