"launderette" poems
Be so fractioned
my split personality be split
Never know who's comin' out
Kinda like the laundry mat
Does mine at the Wishy Washy
Funny how things get all separated
Whites all in a pile over here
Darks and colors over there
Breaks it down even further
Gotta lotta red
so that gets its own pile
whilst medium and light colors
be divided
Blacks and blues
just lumped together
Then it just gets all mixed up again
'Cause truth is
don't gots the dough to through
down that many loads
This riles Señorita Clarita
Thinks I'm cheap
so mostly, I end up lookin' like some
techno tie-dyed fruit basket
in girly pants
Yeah, still be wearin'
my sister's hand-me-downs
Be some hard times for
The Poet Launderette
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
I never come here, you understand,
I'm of a higher social class,
But my washer dryer has broken down
And has left me without a single gown.
My dishwasher works fine and my wine rack is full,
But still, expensive washer dryers can breakdown
And make a lady frown.
I've got someone coming to fix it
(We have our washer dryer insured),
I should really get a new one but it's been really rather good...
It's always washed away the stains of fancy food.
Fellow launderer please understand -
as you look rather tough -
I won't judge you if you don't judge,
So let us wash our clothes in unspoken harmony
And make my inconvenience as unawkward as it can be.
But to my shame my snobbish mind assumes the worst;
That every rushing washer
Is thrusting clothes into the machines hurriedly,
Because they've all been on a killing spree.
Now the drying is almost done,
I can leave you with your dreary woes of working life and sleepless nights,
And go right home to dispose of that gun.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Her baby was buried
in a grave alongside 827 other babies.
Who knew no mothers.
Her mother thought it best
to let the nuns help her sell the child to the Americans.
The babies would have had names like Dermot, Aoife, Sandra and Sean
"Would have" isn’t an awfully good thing to think about.
It was a typically miserable November Sunday
When they brought her over there
after that last mass.
Unrelated to this, there is a launderette named the Magdalene
in the city I live in, which is nowhere near Tipperary but in the East of England.
In fairness, it is located on Magdalen Street, without the second “e”,
A once rough and tumble but now an up and coming kind of place,
where among the students and young professionals getting their whites cleaned
the only ones likely to take offense at this are students of history or the named émigré children of
Irish parents.
I’ve been told it’s now a chain of launderettes, but I imagine the owners have enough on their mind
without constantly Googling their services.
When they let her out of the home for troubled girls,
it was the warmest July she’d ever seen.
Some days the baby’s name is Michael, others it’s Matthew, recently, it’s been Corey, Ryan, even Sean.
But she never wishes that it would have been a girl.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
There is the launderette,six kilogram load sitting quite cleanly at the top of the road and next door the 'topstore', continental cuisine,so many things I've never tasted or seen and here is the chip shop,the *** shop and whip shop all bunched together,I wonder whether they know,I have a hunch that they do,that the shop on the corner is called 'appetites come true' ,it's the shish shop,kebab stop,doner popping off the *** and piping chilli,very hot,not a place that I've been to but a place where appetites come true,
and for all destinations at the crossroads a taxi firm,united nations,all licensed to seat me and you and two or even more when specifically ordering a sedan, six door and door to door what the hell are you walking for?
The bus ride is a fantasy through Stratford's heaven on the 257 but why can't it be the 73 and all these lovely shops I see could be sat on the seven sisters gyratory,
I go round and round and all for a pound
or two
but worth it for the lovely view.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Each Word That’s Spoken Loses Altitude, Everything You Think Is Quietly Booed
A Busy Mind Screams Out Across A Night Sky, On Earth You’re Just A Little Bit Shy
People We Know Become Strangers You’ve Never Met, You Sometimes Ask Them for Change at The Launderette
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 8:28 AM UTC