In the summer, Myra sits proudly on my lakefront porch.
She waits until the two of us steal away in secret to the days gone by.
Myra, my beautiful Maytag wringer washer, stands plump and stout.
Her round belly and short legs support her crowning glory,
The magnificent rolling wringer that devours even the plumpest towels.
Agitating slow and steady, Myra talks to me
Telling stories of every woman who stood by her side.
When her work is done, her waters flow into my garden,
Connecting her past with my future.
Unable to hurry, she teaches me the joy of now.
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