Poem: Laundry Day

"I love doing my laundry,"
I repear to myself
as I sip my coffee
and eat the delicious
apricot bar
I have treated myself to.
Laundry is so benign a task,
yet a leasurely one.
Once the clothes are in the machine
there is nothing to do
but wait and rest.
All the while knowing
I'm doing a good duty:
cleaning my clothes.
It needs to be done
for myself
and for society at larges
delicate nose and sensibilities.
Sitting back to read a magazine
I breathe a sigh of happyness.
Giving thanks to the heavens
that it's Laundry day.
And right now,
there is nothing more important
than the feel and smell
of a pile of clothes.