The launderette’s a necessity.
We like to clean in washing machines,
our dreams churning up deep waters.
Bored, I gaze thoughtlessly out front,
accompanied by the satisfying clunk and whirr as dirt is destroyed
and remember once joylessly entering the office opposite.
“Relate- Marriage Guidance.”
We once aired our dirty linen there,
raising the temperature of brief dismembering grief.
Now others enter our long ago laundry,
hoping to be cleansed, reconditioned, then hung out to dry.
They walk up as if on trial, forced to stride in unison
bound to someone they barely know,
and while they argue about who will ring the bell,
hellish thoughts go spinning round and round.