There is something so comforting about a washing machine.
All the clothes are tossed in,
Worn out,
Smelly,
Dirty.
The soap is measured out,
A button pressed, and with a "click" the door locks,
And a certain type of magic starts.
As the machine spins,
Everything is thrown together.
The reds, purples, blues, all spinning,
Until there is no distinction.
It doesn't matter whether your a sock or a sweater,
The pants are mixed in with the shirts,
And the gloves are forced in with the hats.
There is only one purpose for a washing machine.
To clean.
Old dirt is washed away,
Sweat,
From a hard day,
Is lost in sudsy water.
It is all placed in the washing machine,
And the washing machine will remove it all.
So you can start tomorrow fresh,
With a clean start.
After all,
The shirt left IT'S stains in the washing machine.