There was once a boy

There was once

A little boy


One of those who grow old to
Be strong women

But for now he needed to find
A way out of that horrible old
washing machine

That’s his home
So he thought and thought
And she planned and planned

And one day
After the apartment
downtown With the pink
plastic tiles and The old
wooden sealings

Was long gone
And the smell of fresh
chlorine was quiet for a
After the Long walks by the
seafront became the stuff of
And the old white house was
fucked over by shity grey

And the little girl rode her
dragon up on the sky

Till death do them part


The red painted man came
out of his shadows; he never
wore cologne cause he
despised the way it made him
feel while dancing on top of
his Italian bike;
pink legs were hiding
underneath his belly and he
spoke in tongues only the
gifted few could understand



and lived on the other side of
the screen

Washing machines are not to
be feared

For they’re the home of the
world’s most wonderful pink

If one is lost _ that means it
was all alone in the first place

But if

On the rare occasion one is

Cherish it

Like a hug with a wet raincoat
Fear it

like a mother’s true

And then put it away into
your dark

02:55; 23%; and I’m still
counting the wrinkles in my

Wonderful, isn’t it?


Frances Scholz | ungekämmt | 2017