The Washing Machine

Location

I think

he left her.

 

The boy,

the one with the leather jacket

I wasn't allowed to wash.

 

I didn't see him go

because she keeps me hidden,

in the closet,

with the hamper that collects memories

of yesterday.

 

I heard the slamming door

and the heavy sound 

shoes make when

they are making their final leave.

 

Now she's on rinsemode

all the time

and her circuit board won't

switch to spin.

 

She doesn't let me

wash anymore

and the hamper

is filled.

 

I think

she left me. 

Comments

strymoosa

A voice poem about a washing machine.

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741