The washing machine
Judders sideways much as a giant crab
might submerge itself in a salty pool
elbowed in by Robin Hood’s Bay rocks washed
by North Sea storms.
Its own storms show a rotting rubber rim,
and a rust Rorschach fronting like an iron lichen.
The washing machine doctor cured it of
My NaPoWriMo effort for today, inspired by a prompt from Paper Swans Press on FB: Write a poem about a kitchen appliance. This, again, is just the first half.