White Goods

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing

Oh my stomach’s churning.
Rather full you see.
In fact stuffed.
Gurgle, glug, hiss.
It makes the most embarrassing sounds.

It’s her fault of course.
Fed me too much again.
All sorts. Just mixed together.
No respect for my system.
Round and round it goes like a wad of wet clothes.

She laughs
and presses herself against me
as I vibrate
across the kitchen.
Trying to shake things loose.

The kids, the dog
all tearing past
out into a filthy world.
No respect as if I had
nothing better to do than wash their clothes.

One day, she and her husband
made love on me.
The indignity of it.
Shaking and giggling
and squealing to the spin cycle.

And the smells
Sickly sweet
spilt by the youngest.
Sickly sick
and god knows what the dog rolled in.

I don’t know
how I’d cope
if it wasn’t for
the white powder.
At least that offers some comfort.

More Illustrated Poems by Simon Pocklington

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.