All Washed Up

You would think nothing could have worked in that boxy, choking space;
A microwave sat atop its face.
Yet our doughty machine gave good wash
-Splish! Splash! Splosh! -
Even in its death throes
It washed our clothes,
A great battler till the end
- A godsend.
For in its absence we traipsed round town,
Festooned with jumpers, pants and gown,
Recalling how we used to take the piss
Whene'er we heard its raucous hiss.
Think of all the Newlyweds it ruined;
They mean nothing now it's gone.
'This machine is fucked' the man accused,
We whimpered 'No, you're wrong!'.
Would that it were back
We wouldn't mind its seismic clack.
But it's gone for good to the celestial sphere.
It's hands and arms in sink from here.

Edward Murray