I’ve heard mum say, and often too,
That washing up’s a bore.
Why she’d often give me tuppence
Just to do that dreadful chore.
But me, I rather like it
With my elbows in the sink,
Stirring up the bubbles
As I have a little think.
And when I start to wash them,
Why the dishes fade away
And in their place a special friend
Comes to visit me each day.
There’s a genie in the saucepan,
And when I make the bottom shine
He shows his great big smiling face,
(It looks a bit like mine).
He likes it when I talk to him,
Yet though it seems absurd.
Although I see him answer me,
I just can’t hear a word!
I see his lips are mouthing words,
But though I strain my ears,
I’ve never yet heard what he’s said
Whenever he appears.
Still I’m sure if Mum could see him
That she’d never say again
That washing up’s a dreadful bore
And drives her quite insane.
A Child's Game On Washing Dishes
We had a large garden around our house. In the morning we found it covered with leaves. We children were taught by our mothers and aunts to sweep it drawing designs with ekel brooms. We...
Reflection
Published by Family Friend Poems December 2018 with permission of the Author.
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