My uncle installed a laundry chute in the upstairs bathroom.
To spare my aunt the grunt and sweat of clothes
Five children, one husband and the occasional boarder to help with the rent.
The chute curled to a bin behind a vine covered awning.
A dark hole under a mock seat for kids to sit on when waiting for a bath.
Once I tried to squeeze my small round body through the square hatch
It stuck mid transit along the lacquered wood until a cousin pushed me from behind
There I plumped on a pile of sheets, towels and undies,
Waiting for rescue.
