At the LAUNDROMAT / the sign, all in Caps.
Time : Midnight at half past

It’s like a home for my home-girl
And that Chicano Youngblood
Cutie with his family duties /
in the lateness of tonight, doing laundry:
Folding his brothers’ Johns
His Tia’s Lacey skimpy's
Crumpled like tiny ****** / scrunchies.
He’s Methodical, his eyes don’t waver
From his work,
Tries to not notice mines

I feel like I’m in a rap video,
My chick being clocked by dark eyed,
She does not notice,
& while at tumble dry
I can’t quit ogling at ****
Hanes-shirt white,
Mr. homegrown boy / guy.
Headphone Speakers have his ears
Texting back at spam / females,
Smartphone shiny thick ‘uns
While I watch salivarily, licking lips
**** so Fine!
My muffled salutations—hot ****!
He’s Adjusting himself front faced
my window to
Things that makes you go hmmm...
I feel I should somehow
Cater to these wiles inside
Aquiver / wrought / A high
Willowing / body admonishing
the vibrations of deep bass
like hard hip-hop rap beats from
Impalas riding way low,
Tinted windows vs. blind faith
Reality vs. perceptions from our
Fantasy / briefly close shuddering eyes
Awake not a dream spared.
(Hello there!)
Midnight at the Laudromat,
This is some reality at that!
Home grown boys
And drool drops / swimming in thought
From the corner of mouths
Words are *****
Past the late of moonless nights
In the neighborhood of Twain and
Corona beers (hold the virus)
We’re all marked by the streets
And the big empty inside us...
The hunger pangs,
Homeless outside chitchat on black
Skittering past
City Wildlife
At Midnight at the Laundromat.
Yes ****** &
       Too **** at That
(In all caps.)