My washing machine.

I wrote this poem for my washing machine when it broke down. Have fun with this real story as an example of poetry which comes from experience.


The washing machine mechanic came for the seventh time
concerned about its long illness.
On previous visits he had revised several main components.
His diagnosis was always related to physical problems:
its display, its electronic module, the engine wiring.
However, each time he changed a vital organ
the machine did a small gesture, an imperceptible flicker
of its buttons and turned off again.
If yoou see it from the end of the poem, there is no doubt
it was dead.

His visits were already common towards the end of each week
and Noel was Cuban and inclined to philosophy.
We talked about the superficiality of life without washing machine,
or about the futility of existence or the transience of time.
"Eight weeks ago you came for the first time, Noel."
I told him to confirm his theories about space and time.

One of these days we discussed about my faith in electronics,
dissapearing because Noel could not find the cause
in my new digital generation washing machine.
"I missed mechanics a lot" I said to him.
Noel looked at me and answered very seriously:
"But you should not say that, electronics placed man in the cosmos"

But in his seventh visit his somber face indicated an inner sadness
he had never been shown.
He said it was clear that the problem was not material
but in the spirit of the unit:
"The soul of the machine is in critical condition."
"perhaps", he commented,"modern stress or total postmodern atheism
had caused a widespread anxiety attacks
which had blocked it".

Noel was responsible for the replacement of the washing machine.
He told me it will soon be with us again.

I have not seen
either Noel nor my old washing machine
since then.