Ode to the Washing Machine

Oh, mighty white domestic thing,

I love the way you fit my decor,

And how you make the laundry swing,

Inside your round and glassy door.

Day in, day out, I take you for granted.

Just mindlessly put some laundry through.

But when my son stares at you, enchanted,

It makes me think: without you, what would I do?

When I was young, and we were poor,

By hand I washed, rinsed, wrung: it took so long!

The torture that my hands had to endure...

'Cause Grandma thought child labour wasn't wrong.