Kendra Mack Oct 2015

Gather the clothes heaps
It’s laundry night!
Haul out the basket
Divide darks from lights

Check all the pockets
Turn pants inside out
Drop in the machine
And pour in the Shout

Find the right setting
And then watch it spin
When the buzz sounds
Then drying begins

Transfer to dryer
STOP! - It must hang-dry
If it’s too cotton, too fragile
Or… damn who knows why?

When done the hanging
It’s onto load two
Repeat every step
Until laundry’s through

BUT WAIT! That’s not all!
You thought you were done?
Now tumble, now iron
You thought this was fun?

Now hang up or fold
And - at last! - store away
I should start wearing
The same clothes every day!

PJ Poesy Mar 2016

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

Just hangin' out.
Olivia Frederick Nov 2015

I can tell I'm depressed
When I don't take the laundry
Out of the washer,
Where it has been cleansed of its sins
Of passion, or rage, of greasy fast food.
My filthy hands would ruin them.


So I wait for my roommate
To baptize his own spotless hands
With MY damp boxers.
The habitual thuds of my soggy clothes
Against the back of the dryer
Are a nice distraction.

My favorite flannel dances
With her tiny lost sock.
But 45 minutes isn't enough.
I don't want to end their fun,
So I leave them there
And hope that they'll fuse forever.

He tosses the clothes onto my floor,
Scattering them, wrinkling them, freeing them.
Corduroys atop henleys under crew socks and tees.
Folding them would be a waste
Of a catastrophic masterpiece.

Fatima Ammar Mar 2014

Tree branch prancing,

Raindrop race,

Icy wind dancing,

Washed satin, cotton and lace.

**


(When you wash laundry and it starts raining...)

Danielle Shorr Mar 2015

I joke about watching the laundry
in the machine when
what I really mean is I could
watch you for the same amount
of time without losing interest

It's the perfect,
soothing,
excuse.

Warm, fragrant,
and necessary.

What else
could so
effectively
keep me
from my
writing?

Now,
there's
just mine
to do,
and I'm
out of
excuses.

©Elisa Maria Argiro
Juniper Helena Aug 2013

I wish I could wash you away from me
every little fragment of love I still feel for you
drowned in soap.

but I just can't learn how to do laundry
when it comes to you.

Riq Schwartz Jun 2014

My laundry consists
of clumps of socks, jeans, bed sheets
Once-used towels, and you.

Jam Rock Mar 2013

Id kill to go back home
where my bedroom still looks the same
where my mom takes my dirty laundry away to be cleaned
but my dirty laundry piles up now
and I wanna go home
where my laundry doesnt sit in the corner for me to look at

raðljóst Apr 2013

folding laundry with you

singing don't let me down

and you know

i never will,

but those words look lovely

on your lips.

today Jasper and I put on the Mission to Mexico soundtrack and sang all the songs together while folding his clothes in an attempt at cleaning his room. I've bothered him about it for a few months and today we felt spontaneous so we started cleaning it at random.

An example of the simple parts of love, I suppose.
Darbi Alise Howe Nov 2012

I washed your sheets on Mondays, a private liturgy
Their veracious nature spoke; my eyes sought not to see
I scrubbed those stains with child's hands
Until linen stripped and fell to strands
Those twisted ropes that once bound us
Turned silent traitors, servants of  lust
Denial is my cross to bear
And of the irony, I am aware
Yet do not dismiss my right to ache
My faith in you is your mistake
But know when thread unwinds to bone
You will lie prisoner on those sheets
Alone

The man I was with for a year proved unfaithful, and I found it ironic how I washed his sheets each week, oblivious.
Kate May 2015

In a little pile by the bathroom,
a collection of my clothing engraved.
Though the cloth is cyclically exchanged,
the pile serves as vowed remain.
I say I keep them there in case,
but we both know it's promised trace
that any time I leave this place
there is a never-ending return.

I am whole-heartedly, undoubtably in love.
We do not live together,
but I stay there every night.
I am always here, so I keep a small collection of clothing that I leave by the bathroom door. A wall area in which I have claimed for my belongings. I keep them there in case I need to change, yes, but it is also symbolic of my return any time I leave. It is assurance that no matter what happens, I HAVE to get my things back. Almost like a promised excuse.
The clothing is "engraved" because I always leave them there, and even if I have to wash them, I leave a variety of articles "cyclically exchanged" so that the wall is never vacant.
All of the end words, except the first and the last line, are mainly like-rhyme. I used this to articulate the fluidity yet imperfectness of our love. I used words such as, "engraved, vowed, promised" to describe the pile of clothing because they are also used to describe marriage, wedding rings, etc. I am nineteen and marriage is not in my current desires, but this little pile of clothing is what I use to promise the continuation of my love. This poem is short and a pile of clothes is simple to illustrate how easy and simple our love is. We are not hung up on technicalities or societal structure but rather a realistic, honest bond.
A love as honest as laundry.
Lines 5-7 rhyme perfectly to illustrate the rhythm that two souls create as time goes on.
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