Was just downstairs dropping off a kitchen cloth into the washing machine, when I thought, Why not write a poem about loving a washing machine?
And when I was running up the stairs I thought, This poetry writing is all because of the death of Chris Bursk.
It was dark downstairs and I could barely see into the washing machine but there were so many complex parts.
They were not really necessary but the people who worked at Lady Kenmore wanted us to become dependent on them.
So here goes, as I sit on Red Couch.
LADY KENMORE
When you behold her, you must be prepared.
First goes in the detergent which will agitate about
Until your clothes - whether for you, father, mother, or baby brother - become clean.
What about softness?
We have come up with a product called Fabric Softener.
A special pocket, smaller than Alice's, is where you pour your
Jojo or Moho or Joanna's as you smell the floral aroma
And imagine sitting on the back porch near a profusion
of Lilac Blossoms.
A cup of tea would be nice so you ring your tea bell and a
maharaja comes down from the kitchen with a silver tray
a silver pouring vessel and a delicate red cup with no handles
and, with his black beret atop his head, pours it for you.
How wonderful it smells.
You close your eyes and take tiny sips.
Teeny tiny sips until you fall asleep. When you
awake, the fireflies have gathered in your large back yard
How you wish, like Doctor Dolittle, you knew their language,
but it doesn't really matter because Joy is here and Joy is now.
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