Hello laundry, my old friend
I've come to load and fold again
Our dirty clothes were softly creeping
Grew by heaps while I was sleeping
And the mission I implanted in my brain
Still remains
Life without a mound of laundry

The fitted sheets I fold alone
Million sheets of Bounce I've thrown
'Neath the halo of a basement lamp
I scrubbed a collar in the cold and damp
When my ears were pierced by the buzz of a finished load
That ruined my show
And touched the mound of laundry

And in the naked light I saw
Two or three people, maybe more
People messing without cleaning
People talking without listening
People making work in which they never shared
No one cared
About the mound of laundry

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Laundry like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you"
But my words fell like caps of Suavitel
Splashed on my laundry hell

And the people howled and brayed
At the heaping mess they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The loads of the laundry
Are piled against the basement walls
And upstairs halls
I'm Fabrezing mounds of laundry


This poem first appeared on Medium.com.
Used here with permission.