Wash day

In the days before Wi fi, computers, tumble driers and stuff,

When your mum used to beat carpets to get rid of the fluff,

There was a thing called washing that used to hang on the line,

And as a wee boy these Bedouin tents of linen were mine.

-----------------------

My pals and me were Arabs and Pirates ,swashbucklers and scamps

With dirty knees and runny noses, we looked more like wee tramps,

We’d make camps and hideouts among the shirts, pants and sheets

If luck was with us our pal Drew would share out his sweets.

-----------------------

Then mum would shout out to us rascals, from a twin tub of steam,

She new we were there even though we would giggle unseen,

“Get out of my washing, go and play in the park on the swings”

“And keep your grubby wee mitts of all my newly washed things”.

-----------------------

Then off we would run to the park, at the top of our street,

With our sticks that were swords and a ball at our feet,

Eventually hunger would drive me home for some food,

Fizzy pop and some crisps if dad thought we’d been good.

-----------------------

Then mum would sigh and wipe her hands on a towel,

Then look at me and my dad with a hint of a scowl,

Then I’d look at him and he’d look at me,

Then I’d fold the washing and he’d go make the tea.

-----------------------

When tea was all finished, dishes washed, dried and gone,

We’d spread on the couch with the telly switched on,

There we would be for the rest of the night,

No colour of course, it was just black and white.

-----------------------