The extractor was my aunt’s idea.
A cylinder of stainless steel to wring
All excess from the sopping linen.
Round and round went the perforated tub,
Straining its resources as it spun.My aunt was thin. She had a lantern jaw
And sang to my mother
In their native tongue.We managed the building.
In fact it managed us.
The tenants needed things
And were quick to ask:A new fuse to dispel the darkness
That had come,
Strong spray for the roaches
That were defeating their life.Spinning us dry in their cycles
Of desire.
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