Spun out of control. <br />Bobbing then pommeled, squashed then bloated. <br />A lone occupant within the confines of a tumble dryer <br />at full spin.... <br />An impatient hand lifts the lid off <br />with deft, well practised fingers <br />hopeful that in so doing would speed up the process. <br /> <br />The spinning abruptly stops <br />resuming only when the lid is firmly shut <br />securely in place. <br />With a banging and a rattling <br />the tumbling ensues... digits lifting <br />assured the interruption overrided. <br /> <br />The mind opens to the fact that <br />there is one entry and one exit <br />on this front loader churning <br />Its machinations moistens the <br />dank air and frigid tiles with <br />a slimy condensation. <br /> <br />A final click breaks the dense <br />silence. <br />From inside the searing metal tub <br />emerges a once bright red garment <br />its fabric faded, worn, and frayed. <br /> <br /> <br />~<br /><br />Frederick Kesner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wash-3/
