Poem 2016 / 019

Mangle Monday

Monday was washing, the fire

in the outhouse lit and the huge tub

of water filled bucket by bucket

from the rainwater barrel.

With the water steaming

the whites went in. My father's shirts

and wife beaters, the sheets from four beds

and finally the bathroom towels.

From boiler to dolly tub, agitated

by hand then retrieved with wooden tongs;

cold tub to rinse then into the mangle

before the last step of washing line.

Then the linens, the underwear,

dresses and trousers (and by now

the day is almost done again)

then time to get the washing in.

After she died in 'seventy eight

my father got a twin tub.