In Praise Of The Washing Machine Man

With dirty laundry high's a weather vane And nothing fresh to wear next to the skin Our washing machine decided to abstain Flooding our kitchen like the Spanish Maine We chopped its power off like poor Anne Boleyn And all its faults went gurgling down the drain The washing machine man entered. Broke the chain Of desperation, fleet as Errol Flynn Fitted a newer version, stopped the pain Of stinking socks, and sheets with sweaty stain No tramping in the bath, then wring, not spin Our home was sanitary once again