The Measure of Their Days by Catherine Chandler

The wringer washer churned in perfect time
in side-to-side slish-sloshing. With its song,
two sisters would side-step and sing along.
Fels-Naptha flakes took care of grease and grime.
They’d hear its rhythmic cadence rise and fall
then fall and rise. This turnaround and switch
teased the girls, who needed to know which
approach was true. Their mother said it all
would come out in the wash.
                                   Yet to this day
the mystery is unsolved. At any rate,
the agitator seemed to calibrate
the heart of matters. As it plugged away
between two wars their world shone clean and bright.
Years later, they would march.
                                  Left. Right.

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