Iron and Ironing Board
By Dan Eggs

He’s an ironing board with an iron on his back
She rests equidistant on his foam-cushioned plank
His asbestos cover has turned to brown
since she smoothed him over and rubbed him down
She’s new from the shop – he’s wobbly and old –
held together with bolts and screws –
crosses his legs in domestic bliss –
she asks “Do you want hot, medium or cold?”

There’s a pressing need for clothes that are clean
Yes, only creased jeans can come between
She lets off steam and blows a fuse
Then seals their relationship with a
singed starched kiss

but the ironing board –
he’s glad he’s made a lasting alliance
with his tender loving electrical appliance.

« back