washers The Washers' Song 
We rustproofed hundreds of washers,
patiently wired on steel.
I had to untwist every kink
before my longed-for meal.
They were as tangled as nightmare,
barbed as the winter briar,
but I was sure that the final pair
hung, kissing, on one wire.
But they were threaded separately.
I finger them, gleaming and slim.
Perhaps I should not ask her
at the same time as him.

Alison Brackenbury

If you have any comments on this poem,   Alison Brackenbury  would be pleased to hear them.