The Possibilities

I have to admit I cleaned the washing machine;
yes, I hear the cries, delinquent, madman, why
would one demean oneself like that – and wear
the shame. There is no defence upsetting age-
old tradition of ‘the wash’ being fey territory to
steer clear of is there; and yet I do not fear an
upsurge of mutiny or undue hesitation in role-
play usually made to great theatrical effect.

It was no ordinary rub and scrub event anyway,
gender anarchy with good intent came to hand,
meant use of a water blaster quite naturally –
preserving equability the play on disassembly of
intimate parts progressed without even a risqué
thought of the washer’s potential compromise.

Of course notions plagued my mind it may be
an excess I’ll pay for – I’ve yet to test whether
(dare I say ‘she’) will wash the next batch with
the same eagerness as in the past; it’ll have to
wait tho’ I guess until the need arises, I don’t
want to seem too aware of the possibilities
© 19 September 2012, I. D. Carswell