A
single flower
on a young peach tree
glowing neon pink
in the morning sun
a single promise
of
what we all can be.

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.

The cold, hard numbers
That our most established scientists
Now conceive

Whether astronomers or physicists,
Leave us with no other choice than to
Make peace with the fact that somebody;

Something out there has
Complete control over our every detail.
And as Sir David F. Attenborough

Would say when witnessing
Some incomprehensible horror of Nature:
One must let it take its course.

We ****, ****, laugh and cherish.
But do we?
There is more to Earth than her worst.

Perhaps we are left with the words of
New Agers, hippies and
Mushroom eaters in the end

To describe reality at last.
Or the poets. Lest we forget
The ******* poets.