would not wash the laundry out.
She researched for pups and started a blog,
cooked a chicken and dreamed of her dog.
And though her family would whine and pout,
she simply would not wash the laundry out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
dirty socks and twisted leggings,
Dad's work shirts and smelly socks
crusty wash cloths and wrinkled frocks.
It filled the hamper, it covered the floor,
it cracked the tiles, it blocked the door
with sweats, and undies, and ring around the collar
and pockets with legos and crumpled up dollars.
Kleenex surprises that burst in the drier,
lip balm that makes the situation dire.
Five loads of whites, three red tees,
Wash in the day when the pipes don't freeze.
King-sized sheets all wound up and coiled
stuffed with wet rags that were floured and oiled.
Hosery, nylons, stockings, and tights,
some without toes and others, worse plights.
At last the laundry reached so high
that it finally touched the sky!
And all the neighbors made their report,
And none of her friends were of that sort.
And finally Lani Cynthia Sylvia Stout said,
"OK, I'll wash the laundry out!"
But then, of course, it was too late..
the laundry reached across the state.
From Minnesota to Dakota West,
and there, in the laundry, she did detest.
Poor Lani met an aweful doom,
somewhere in her laundry room.
So, children, remember Lani Stout
and always wash the laundry out!
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