


|
AT
THE LAUNDROMAT
Weekend
regulars
Sacrificing their quarters
To the laundry gods.
Tan migrant workers
Speaking in an unknown tongue
Lost in Anglo town.
Intricate puzzle -
That guy will never solve it -
Folding fitted sheet.
Harried young mothers
Fitting family washing
Into busy day.
Strutting back and forth,
Full of his own importance,
Entrancing toddler.
Hot tumbling dryers
Smell of fabric freshener
Almost time to fold.
~Marilyn
Gordon~
October 22, 2000
More Poems
By Marilyn
Home
The Author has
copyright © of the poems
Design copyright © 2001 kavitanjali.com
Do not copy
|