Death Roll [rev] Poem by Margaret Alice Second

My little world which was crumpled and strangled
within the washing machine's death roll, an event
worse than a crocodilian attack - now slowly turns
upright again; Monday it's back to the office with
a set bedtime and early rising with office routines

Plus a time for everything, not confusion of home
where anything goes at any time until I can't sleep
at night and snooze during the day: found 3 black-
and-white blouses to face New Year; what a relief
that discipline will be forced back on me

It's dearly needed - I always fall into the whorl of
freedom - until the washing machine's death roll
defines my existence - then it's time to get back
to the office, not keep stashing notebooks in big
bags camouflaged under sea-coloured fabric