Pegs forever in her palms

Wet piles of washing wait

And though she says "Just one more load"

She knows there's no escape

Now damaged goods she's past her date

Years have scarred and chaffed her skin

She'll hide her head and carry-on

But the routine has worn her thin

Another cycle spins a day

 She reaches for more pegs

The old machine, much like her

Both work on their last legs