laundry

i really like taking my wet laundry
out of the washing machine
and putting it into the dryer.

to hear the behemoth
slushing, whirring,
moaning and churning, then
its gathereds coming into
dazed inertia blinking,
questioning,
eyes adjusting to the light before
being hoisted out for more

is to know that helplessness in the face
of hidden fate's enigmatic advance against us,
a raging machine
of tumbling chance
that we cannot help but to endure.

they lay stretched and whipped across those
gleaming black walls breathless
and exhausted, dripping
drops of water around the bottom of the
basin, gasping

having been dusted in a funny white powder
before being thrown and drowned inside
a maddened cauldron determinedly emulating
the rushing blow of an angry river's water
upon their cotton blend and pitable
buttons clinging to some simple threads,
they fixedly gaze in quiet shock
at nothing in particular.