Be Wrung My Heart

Glory be to God for textiles,

Towels and spring-like things.

My washcloth, dry and green,

You greet me mornings

Upon your own steel rung,

Singing of wash and water.

Into my outstretched hands,

My rag of splash and laughter,

My song of a brand new day.

Long I wait for warmer water,

Soak, then slap you to my

Bleary face, my blinking eyes,

My skull grown long and grim.

Wrap you round my neck

And douse my thinning hair,

Till dripping, winning, won, I

Turn to tub and shake away

All of yesterday’s cares - as

Drops a dog onto his paws and

Wriggles himself magnificent.

Thus spun, the drying begun,

I pick you up, my sopping rag,

Wring you like my hoary heart,

Hang you slack once more

Upon your steadfast rack,

And hope tomorrow I’ll be back.