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Photo by Nik MacMillan on Unsplash
Encased by the white tiles all around her, in an enormous room with so many washers, makes her weary. She shows up, each day, every single day of the year, at the same time and leaves at half-past five. She loads the insatiable machines, begrudging every minute lost. Sodden dresses, mismatched booties, soiled pajamas, red leotards, mud-stained soccer shorts, soccer-socks, pinafores, stained uniforms, skirts, jeans, sweaters, trousers.
Eventually, she dwindls her efforts, washing only max of two loads on a given day, and cudgels her brains speculating why her days are painfully long now!
©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, explore my other poems/flash fiction stories.
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