Isn't it extraordinary
how our bodies are easily healed
when it comes to breaking our skin
how it repairs itself in a matter of days,
yet when it comes to internal pain
there are no true remedies.
It’s not like skin
where the scars fade after a while
instead inside,
let’s say the heart
or the lungs
it’s impossible to breathe the same way as before
to have your heart beat like before
natural like a bird fluttering its wings?
Instead that scar that should fade stays forever
you have to carry it around with your
heart beating irregularly
it makes no sense
how we are extraordinary at healing our wounds
on the outside.

I dont know what to do.
Ive been feeling oh so blue.

i dont know why i always want to cry.
sometimes i just want to die.

but i want to live, so badly, i want to live,
and have glorious kids, who grow up and give me grandkids.

but theres always this part of my mind
that says i don't deserve it.

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.