The washer and dryer
Michael Ryan
Michael Ryan
Jan 13, 2016

Smells like clean clothes
it's always pleasant
at the laundromat
down the street from
my apartment.

The washer and dryer
are currently broken
looks like some teenager
didn't know what they were doing
as the washer is filled with water
and their clothes remain
inside dwelling to smell
of mildew.

The dryer looks like an antique
because it is the slime green of the 70's
mismatched to it's wifley counterpart
that is stainless steel sparkles
so I assume the dryers death
is not the fault of our fresh water culprit
but electrical problems brought on
from existing forever.

They broke a few months ago
and I've never gone to check
if they were brought back to life
as I've found myself
intoxicated with the laundromat.

It's the mechanical hums
an orchestra of ball barrings
with clothes tumbling
through their fabric softeners
to become fresh gentle cottons
the smell of Hugs
is the aroma of heaven.

Random.  Dreamy.  Life. Pleasant.  Appreciate the small things?
#life   #happy   #dreams   #clothes   #random   #smell   #clean   #pleasant   #dryer   #washer  
Like a dryer is the human mind
Alex Moore
Alex Moore
Nov 13, 2015

Like a dryer is the human mind
Sopping wet and rolling around
Everything succumbs to heat
Shrinks, tears, fades

Even the sock gets lost in the dryer
And yet one remains
A half of a whole that can no longer be complete
One sock
Gone forever

Do we mourn the lost
Where is the vigil?
A sock mourned is a thought lost
An idea that can never be
Static we never feel again

#mind   #mental   #jumble   #dryer   #foxgopher  
A ladder leading into a tumbling dryer
Meg Howell

Love and practicality
A ladder leading into a tumbling dryer
Dangerous and blurred

Flowers with roots to hidden caves,
Caves known as the "heart and soul",
Which we keep hidden

A tightripe balanced over the sea,
Inescapable and thrilling

A wandering tumble-dryer
Gerald Allan Donaldson

A wandering tumble-dryer
Sat by a deep lagoon
And tried to re-align him
With happenings late and soon,

New paths, new plots, new people
New chemicals in the wash,
And sitting there in God’s sweet air
The lake he looked across,

“Just as the Sun at break of day
Glad hope will soon revive,
I now embrace the life I have,
Bliss to fortunate survive.”

In this happy mood of mind
He churned his merry drum,
Clothes softly sifting down inside
Out perfect then to come.

Lisa Benson
Lisa Benson
Jun 23, 2013

fold the ventricle to the right
the pulmonary to the left
the wrinkled capillaries need to be ironed
pillowcases of vessels need to be thrown in the wash
take one last whiff of his scent
before he's just another sheet in the laundry
dirty laundry
clean of heartache

stupid title idk
Zak Krug
Oct 24, 2012

I am
listening to
a symphony of
coffee pots,
and cheap sex.

A red coffee cup
sits on my desk,
half full.

Where is this going?

I can be filthy.
I find it to be cheap,
a play.
Oh, sure,
use another idiotic
graphic in your
mess of a poem.

Where is this going?

e so warm and safe—that home inside the dryer.
shades of wrong
Dec 6, 2015

He’s warm and soft and tempting.
He even smells warm.

But I don’t have time for this—there’s work to be done.
I know I should take him out, fold him up, put him away,
and shut the drawer
for good.
I know better.

But he smells—he smells so warm
and new and clean and tender and gentle.
He’s beseeching me to climb in, to allow myself to sink
into his all encompassing embrace, to ignore all reason
and carelessly float in his soft-smelling air,
feeling his comfortable warmth all around me.

I know better.
I know his routine, but still
I’m torn every time.

Every time I find my mind wandering,
foolishly entertaining the ideas he proposes.
It could be so warm and safe—that home inside the dryer.
If I’d just climb in
maybe I wouldn’t feel trapped,
longing for room to stretch and air to breathe.
Maybe the hot, sharp edges of his zippers wouldn’t burn me
this time.
Maybe I would be happy
with him in our home inside the dryer.

But each time I dance with these thoughts, the music halts abruptly—

I know better.
His soft, comforting warmth will not last.
In his darkness, he will become cold and wrinkled.

Right now he is tempting, teasing, enticing.
I know better.

A person cannot live inside a dryer.

All Rights Reserved
Katie Jacobs
Katie Jacobs
Jan 31, 2013

I hate it when mother yells at me about my clothes.
Do not threaten to throw them away because it is the money that you complained about coming out of your pocket.
I'll leave them on the computer chair
I'll leave them in the kitchen
I'll throw them across my room
And I don't want to hear you bitchin'
My ode to mother who should probably
shut the fuck up because I'm not listening.

I'm trying to decide what to wear tomorrow.

To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment