A WASHDAY FANTASY

When skies are smiling hereabout
And I can hang the laundry out,
My friend, the wind, drops round to play.
And our adventure’s under way:
Each linen towel and muslin sheet
Becomes a sail---part of a fleet
Of rippling canvas rigged to masts,
To catch the wind power while it lasts.

My landlocked arms may push a broom
To chase the dust from room to room;
My dry-docked feet may never sail
To let me glimpse beyond this vale,
But, when I hang the laundry out,
Imagination leaves no doubt:
As my heart soars in fancy’s flight:
My ship of fortune heaves in sight.

A blanket from the baby’s crib
Is now the foremast’s flying jib;
A captain orders hands on deck,
All rigging gets a double check;
I seem to hear the boatswains shout,
As shirts and trousers billow out;
A mizzenmast unfurls its sheet……..
And I’m the admiral of a fleet!

But, hark! I hear a baby cry---
I wonder if that jib is dry?

--Helen Ewoldsen--5-13-05