Jurassic laundry

Digging deep

They’ve been laid down
Over endless ages;
Layer upon layer
Of vests and shirts
Compressed in deep, cemented strata,
Shot through with seams
Of stone-aged denim;

Forgotten skirts
And fossil frocks
Cut like fault-lines
Through a couple of aeons’-worth
Of dark, basaltic socks.

Digging down into the lowest reaches,
We uncover t-shirts,
Shorts and flimsy, strappy stuff
From far-off fiery days
Before the earth grew hard and cold.

And like prospectors, gold-fever-gripped
We whoop at each new strike:
Deposits of bath-towels, nightshirts, sheets
A snaking vein of kitchen cloths;
A rich lode of clean underwear.

And nowhere
Do we detect
The smallest trace of iron.

This evening, we finally got round to sorting out the stack of clean laundry in the airing-cupboard, which was as high as the North Face of the Eiger and just as intimidating. It took all three of us, and there were things in there we’d forgotten we even owned. We’re not slack, exactly; we’re just very good at finding more interesting things to do. And we really hate ironing. One of the many reasons I don’t have a proper job requiring shirts and stuff.


10 thoughts on “Jurassic laundry

  1. Ah Nick,

    I gave up ironing some long time ago. Not long after I gave up wearing ties.

    Now it requires a special occasion before the ties come out. And a really special occasion before the iron comes out!! 🙂


  2. I knew you were a man after my own heart, David. The iron is the Devil’s work, and I’ve worn a tie once in the last decade. The day I put one round my neck of my own free will, you’ll know I’m truly tired of life. Thanks for your visit and comment, as ever.

  3. Hey Bob – great to see you here, and thanks for the comment. I’ve been reading your work and really enjoying it, although Blogger has been reluctant to let me leave comments sometimes (‘service unavailable’ messages, stuff like that). I’ve added you to my blogroll; looking forward to reading more!

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