Tuesday, 18 November 2014

New poem: Washing machine

I went to a washing machine re-fit place. Stacks

of washing machines. It was like washing-machine

castle-walls in there. There was a room at the back.

I walked through to it. On one of the machines it

had a bright pink star. On the star it said, ‘De-shrinker

fitted’. I went over to the guy and said, ‘Excuse me, it

says on one of your machines it’s fitted with a

de-shrinker. What’s a de-shrinker?’

‘If you got something that shrunk, it de-shrinks it.’

‘Takes it back to normal size?’

‘Yup,’ he said.

‘How does it do that?’ I said.

‘I don’t fit them,’ he said, ‘I’m the muscle.’

‘Is it more expensive because it’s got the de-

shrinker on board?’ I said.

‘I’ll have a look,’ he said.

He opened a fat book, ran down a list with his


‘Yep, you pay extra for the de-shrinker.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but I’ll take one without.’

‘Please yourself,’ he said, ‘but you don’t want to

be the kind of guy who turns some tasty sweater

into a doll top and then comes running in here

giving me a hard time because you didn’t buy the

one with the de-shrinker.’

‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll take one without.’

‘You’re not the type who takes risks, are you?’ he said.

‘No,’ I said, ‘there are pizzas I’ve never tried.’

‘We don’t do pizzas,’ he said.

‘You do washing machines,’ I said.

‘You got it,’ he said.