down at the laundromat

your world
revolves on getting
to the laundromat.
everything
depends upon
those washers
and dryers
lined up and stacked
in long
neat rows below
the flicker
of fluorescent
lights.
the big window
allows you to look
out onto the street
as the snow
falls, as the cars
and trucks
roll by in the dark
hours, deep
into the night.
you half hear
the clanging of
coins fallen
from pockets, the
brittle pings of
zippers and buttons
against the hot
metal drums
as they spin and spin
your clothes into
warm fresh
newness.
you bring a book to
read and sit in the lime
green plastic chair
but you don't read,
too much is going on.
too many strangers
coming and going.
the folding,
the staring into
phones, the casual
nods or hellos.
it's all part of it,
as someone arrives
holding a heavy
basket, shaking
off the snow. slipping
coins into
the vending machine
with it's crackers
and stale candy bars,
the old coke
machine banging bottles
out the slot.
your world is here.
where everything and
nothing happens,
but the cleansing
of clothes,
the continuation
of your life,
as you know it.