that washday came once a month
 and took two days.

 The weather had to be
 correctly gauged,
 the washerwoman
 engaged
 all the clothes soaked
 the night before,
 and plenty of water
 drawn from the well.

 Early in the morning
 fire was lit
 under the large cauldron.
 The washerwoman
 would get to work,
 skirt hiked up
 and sleeves rolled
 and vigorously tackle
 the soaked clothes
 with green soap,
 on the corrugated
 wooden washboard.
 Clean ashes were sieved
 and joined the clothes
 in the boiling cauldron,
 stirred with a big stick,
 hot steam and soap smells
 permeating the washroom.
 First the white,
 then the colored
 took punishing turns
 on the washboard,
 the washerwoman
 turning red all over
 from the heat
 and the exertion.

 Then,
 steaming piles of clothes
 would be carried
 next to the well
 to be rinsed thoroughly
 and wringed dry,
 by two women
 holding each side
 in a muscle bulging twist,
 water cascading down,
 and hung to dry.

 The best was
 the gathering
 of the dried wash,
 when clean smelling sheets
 were turned into swings
 for the little ones.
 

 We now turn a button
 practically each day.
 We only need
 to take care
 not to mix
 white with colored,
 why, with color fast,
 not even that.