Wash Day

The money goes in
But what comes out?
After-the-rain scented socks,
A free t-shirt,
A sale item,
A lone towel, and maybe
A soft cotton souvenir –

Now it has lost its charm,
Detergent muted its gentle fragrance,
The soft smell of person
And an afterthought, cologne.

The machines are dented
And one doesn’t drain,
Do I ring out the water
And dry or do I wash again?
Another load, another dollar,
Coins fall down the slot,
They are too soapy and saturated to ignore –

My nicest clothes are dampened,
Thin, airy tops now weigh ten pounds,
The water has stolen their allure
And washed away lingering breezes of jasmine.

Wednesday is wash day.
Memories of a week-by-week life
Have been shoved away in a basket
And I’ve released their demons,
Smoky sweaters, wrinkled jeans,
Suppressed and dizzied they emerge
From the washbasin far from renewed-

The smell of soap in the laundry room
Is suffocating, so stark and clean,
I long for the delicateness of
Smoke and perfume, smoke and cologne.

The dryer wears my clothes out
More than I do,
It’s an hour long beating
To whip my clothes back into their
Crisp-looking shape, it slaps
Out the folds, shrugs, and slouches
And puts them back in order –

But soon they’ll give in to fabric free will
They’ll be changed, spilt on and thrown around,
They’ll comfort, attract and seduce
As they absorb the soft aroma of living