Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Laundry Night Rises

I need clean shirts
and socks and tees.
It must be laundry night.
The most baneful
night of the apartment
renting, single guy

I need an Alfred or
Jeeves or my man
Godfrey or even a
Mary Poppins to sing
a song about a job, once
begun, is almost half

Although, this hired help,
they’d all probably try to teach
me a moral lesson about
doing such tasks for yourself
and how it
builds pride and character.

I’d have to respond that
I have plenty of character
and to just wash the damn
shirts for me.

It’s the lugging of a big dirty
laundry bag up and down three
flights of stairs, it’s the waiting
in the laundry mat surrounded
by the wounded and the weird.

It’s seems there’s always some
guy in the laundry mat that has a
bloody bandage around his head.
Like he was just released from the
hospital, but needed clean clothes
more than bed rest for the concussion.

It’s expensive, it’s time consuming,
it isn’t sexy, it isn’t fun. I hate folding
my underwear in front of strangers.
Especially the ones I may
have hung on to for a bit
too long.

Laundry night is like
Judgment Night. I almost
wish to be the laundry mat’s

Who would have thought
I’d pray for an in unit

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