Ironing Board


Another of my ‘thing’ poem experiment, also inspired by another play. (I’m doing drama writing and poetry this semester.)

Ironing Board

Tucked in a corner,

legs folded beneath,

like a surf board left drying

after riding the waves.

Instead, upright, it’s a bed

awaiting the weight of a heated press

gliding along fabric waves.

Once the star of a John Osborne’s play

where it rode the waves of fame.

It now looks back in anger,

and ponders its domestic end.

Advertisements

About vickychong

Just an ordinary woman.
This entry was posted in Poem. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s