Lemons and lies
Make sour lives
Strawberries and cream
Make life a scream
So does a blade when I catch you lying.

Pay your quarters
pay your dimes
you're paying for laundromat time
slowly spinning
forgotten
by
Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

Minutes become hours
and
there are still too many hours to go.

Any math class
intense gas
organized religion
waiting for the tow truck,
the bus
in
the pouring frozen rain.

Sitting in the E.R.
with a cut finger
waiting waiting waiting.

Sitting in the hospital room
with an elderly distant relative
you hardly know,
their funeral too.

At the grandparents house
with endless repeats of Judge Judy
on the t.v.
t.v. droning monotoning on and on and on.

Any work day
perpetually two thirty or three,
in meetings with presentations
with more presentations to go,
you're trying to be productive,
but all you know
is
laundromat time
slowly spinning.

Any night of insomnia,
betrayals endless loops,
anxiety rolling through,
following you from one cigarette to another
three o'clock
four o'clock
four-twenty.

Home movies of endless barbeques
I know meaningful to you.

Pictures of people's
cats and dogs
a hundred more to go.

Eight and a half months pregnant,
kiddie soccer on a Sunday morning at 7:30,
the middle school brass band
Friday night at nine,
yes, that's me
passed out and snoring,
laundromat time
a warm blanket
has
put me under.

Anybody else's endless fascinations
say
pictures of weather,
laundromat time sets in
as the
eye lids flutter
narcolepsy sets in with all of this clutter.

So the next time
you're standing in line
and the woman in front is telling
the clerk
every detail you never wanted to know
you'll think about these poor lines
and remember
you're spinning in laundromat time
forgotten by Einstein.

In fact these poor lines
must be feeling that way too
I am going to do you a favor
and
get back to you later.

I looked at you tonight and I saw you.
Not the you that's in a photo, or the you at work,
I saw you.
I saw those brown eyes with lashes curled
I saw your soft brown hair flopping over those eyes.
Those eyes that wear glasses, to me a perfect imperfection.
You stared at the distance, seeing nothing at all, yet,
understanding everything.
Slowly with the hands of a pianist you ran your fingers through your hair and took those glasses off.
Yet, still the bewildered stare.
I'd like to say, that, your not seeing me let me in.
I saw your irritating habits;
(i) not pairing socks
(ii) squeezing the toothpaste from the middle
(iii) not clearing away as you cook
(iv) hating my choice of music
(v) hating vegetables
(vi) loving me
~
The list of perfect imperfections goes on,
but as I watch you staring at nothing,
I would say perfection is overrated
You are my perfection.
I'm sorry I had to go and leave you
Life isn't perfect, and neither is death.
And as I watch your tears fall
I realise I only had one perfect imperfection: you.