Finally found something to pass the
long day, started washing clothes
the wrong way, downstairs there are
washing machines and spin-driers
But no, I never use them, always wash
by hand on holiday, spreading wet clothes
all over the balcony, creating a cosmopolitan
atmosphere, the very thing
The pedantic fathers of this resort tried to
forestall, it is such malicious delight to upset
their apple-cart, only when serving does life
become less unnerving for this public servant
On holiday, serving hubby endless glasses of wine
while washing dishes and clothing – whether they’re
dirty or not, that’s quite beside the point, as long as
I’ve got my arms up to the elbows in soap suds
Does life seem to make some sort of sense…
Margaret Alice
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/malicious-delight/
