Laundry As Digestion

The trough is fed: stuffed, crammed, overfull.
Swallowed by the esophageal stairs
Momentarily stuck between two flights (an air pocket),
Then moving forward
in
fits
and
starts.

In the belly of the basement it is separated into parts -
dropped piece by piece into the cavernous tub, where it is
bubbled and bathed in fluids
scrub
spin
rinse
spin.

Alas - constipation…

The next day, a bloated and moldy load
waits to be propelled (sluggishly) to the final cistern.
Liquids siphoned off mysteriously,
Lint left clinging to the insides
Each piece spun, flipped and steamed into submission.

A loud buzz signals the time for elimination.

The finished products are eyed with satisfaction,
Then returned from whence they came -

flushed forth in an endless cycle.

(Barring the occasional disruptive colonoscopy -
“Where is my black leotard!”
The laundry then roiled and rooted from end to beginning,
wreaking havoc and reflux.
The leotard is vomited up:
wrinkled
dirty
recognizable.)