Monday Morning
Nov 27th, 2006 by Tom
In keeping with the old nursery rhyme, I wash our clothes early Monday morning. My skills as a launderer have improved as my tenure as house husband lengthens; however, the curiously leoparded blouse or pair of trousers, while infrequent remains a mystery nonetheless. Although I don’t consider doing the laundry an unpleasant task, there are occasions when the washing machine is hissing and whirring accompanied by the dryer keeping time as it taps out staccato ryhthms with buttons and zippers spinning like dervishes in its metal drum that I find myself recalling Henry Taylor’s poem, “Airing Linen” with renewed appreciation.
Airing Linen
Wash and dry,
sort and fold:
you and I
are growing old.
from The Flying Change
by Henry Taylor
