A THOUSAND WORDS
We have a small museum in the centre of our town
And it's merely someone's house that's been preserved.
The artifacts inside it are normal household things
Given the rapt attention that's deserved.
They date from the nineteen-fifties, when people washed by hand,
And did many other chores the same way too,
And here we see the Curator telling my grandson, Blake,
What work the wash-boards were supposed to do.
It's a picture of no consequence, and yet I think it's sweet;
Blake's rapt attention lighting-up the scene.
I wonder if he remembers that day so long ago
Every time his clothes get tossed in the machine!
Wash-day nostalgia here, too: