Spun out of control.
Bobbing then pommeled, squashed then bloated.
A lone occupant within the confines of a tumble dryer
at full spin....
An impatient hand lifts the lid off
with deft, well practised fingers
hopeful that in so doing would speed up the process.

The spinning abruptly stops
resuming only when the lid is firmly shut
securely in place.
With a banging and a rattling
the tumbling ensues... digits lifting
assured the interruption overrided.

The mind opens to the fact that
there is one entry and one exit
on this front loader churning
Its machinations moistens the
dank air and frigid tiles with
a slimy condensation.

A final click breaks the dense
silence.
From inside the searing metal tub
emerges a once bright red garment
its fabric faded, worn, and frayed.


~

Frederick Kesner

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wash-3/