The Good Old Days

Monday Was Wash Day

Towels right from the wringer
pegged in the fresh December air
flapped and snapped for a moment
before they froze stiff.

Washing wives of old carted them
back into the house as boards,
stood them in a corner to collapse
while she hung out the rest.

Limp and steaming the family wash
hung out and came back rigor mortis,
to be flung over the many cords
that crisscrossed the little house.

There they sagged while the wife thawed
her frozen arms and fingers
by the old wood stove,
then hauled out another load.

The Ragtag Daily Prompt: PEG

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