Death of a Washing Machine

Believers tell me that their God

never fails to mourn a death.

He mourns each thing that once drew breath

whether man or humble worm,

elephant or pesky germ,

whether warthog or a cod

that’s had its chips and run its term.

Mourning’s all the same to God.

Even cabbages, I’m told,

each blade of grass and leaves grown gold

are mourned on high by grieving God;

plus every pea in every pod

when slipping down a glutton’s throat

gets mourned a little, each by rote.

My word! God has a lot to do;

is His mourning ever through?

Now I see He’s taken on

an extra load of grief and sighs.

For in my churchyard where there lies

an army of the here-begone,

someone’s dumped a dead machine

that once washed clothes completely clean.

Did its owner get the nod

that every death is mourned by God?

By Matthew Robinson

Matthew is a British-Cambodian TV and film producer, director and writer.