"washers" poems
I was on my way to a party
Dressed in heels and a crop top
When I entered the corner store
To purchase some snacks
And on my way to the cashier
A man standing in an aisle
Browsing through peanuts
Glanced up and stopped mid-search
When I clicked past him
And proceeded to uncomfortably stare
I walked into the gas station
Wearing dark wash jeans and a v-neck
With my best friend at 2 AM
When two drunken men stumbled in
And began eyeing us up and smirking
My friend leaned in to me and whispered,
"I'm really scared."
Overhearing her, one man elbowed the other
And with a smile on his face taunted,
"Oh no, we're scaring them."
I was at the laundry mat one night
Wearing shorts and a baggy shirt
When a middle aged man across the room
Kept gawking at me from over the washers
Uneasy, I went outside to smoke
To which he stood at the window
And kept a close eye on me
I called a friend and stayed on the phone
Because I was afraid to go back
And get my clothes alone
I stepped out of my vehicle
In my sweatpants and flipflops
To grab some cigarettes quick
When a white bearded man
Was already at my heels
"Hey, how're you honey?"
I quickly replied, "fine".
And hurried into the store
Without looking back
It seems like every time I leave the house
It doesn't matter what I'm wearing
It could be "provocative" or a burlap sack
I always end up feeling threatened
Heartbeat in my ears
Cold sweat on my back
So don't blame it on my outfit
Don't blame it on my actions
Because I'm not asking for it
I just want to be left alone
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
In the meanest time of summer
when the sun cracks the pavement
and swelter fills your lungs
a call to the dispossessed is in order.
Consider the river washers,
and the alley dwellers
who are simply thankful for today.
Chew on a bitter piece of perspective
and ask yourself;
if you had to carry a cross to your own death
would you complain about the heat?
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Hymn to an Art-o-matic Laundromat
by Michael R. Burch
after Richard Thomas Moore’s “Hymn to an Automatic Washer”
O, terrible-immaculate
ALL-cleansing godly Laundromat,
where cleanliness is next to Art
—a bright Kinkade (bought at K-Mart),
a Persian rug (made in Taiwan),
a Royal Bonn Clock (time zone Guam)—
embrace my *** in cushioned vinyl,
erase all marks: **** vaginal,
****** inkspot, red wine, dirt.
O, sterilize her skirt, my shirt,
my skidmarked briefs, her padded bra;
suds-away in your white maw
all filth, the day’s accumulation.
Make us pure by INUNDATION.
Published by The Oldie, where it was the winner of a poetry contest. This poem was inspired by the incongruence of discovering "works of art" while doing laundry at a laundromat with coin-operated washers and dryers. I was reminded of the experience while reading Richard Moore’s “Hymn to an Automatic Washer.” Keywords/Tags: hymn, art, America, Americana, laundry, laundromat, washer, dryer, appliances, clean, cleaning, cleanliness, clothes, clothing, underwear, god, godly, godliness, water, baptism, inundation, sonnet, analogy, humor
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 11:50 PM UTC
When all around you saw darkness,
you gazed at the stars.
Everyone wants to paint their pain,
but only you, Vincent,
channeled that awful torment
into beauty
immaculate and sublime;
only you, dear Vincent
saw the beauty in the shoes, the bedroom, the weeds, the washers,
only you saw the beauty when it wasn't pretty.
To suffer is human.
but
to find ecstasy in the ordinary
and transform the banal into the magical
is something only you could do,
my dearest Vincent.
Merci;
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
beep beep go the cars
beep beep go the SUVs
beep beep go the trash trucks
beep beep go the busses
beepeeeee beepeeeee go the fire engines
beepeeeee beepeeeee go the ambulances
beep beep go the shovelers
beep beep go the snow trucks
beep beep go the Fed Ex guys & UPS ers
beep beep go the watches
beep beep go the alarms
beep beep go the microwave ovens
beep beep go the washers & dyers
beep beep go the beepers
that are driving me beep beeping insane
beep beep
beep beep goes the Road Runner
but that one does not
drive me beep beeping insane!
beep! beep!
beep! beep!
beep! beep!
beep! beep!
Okay, now, really,
you have driven me beep beeping insane.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
gallows on the rooftop
where window washers go
to suspend
metal gibbet
quick hinge, raise and lock
secure against the weather
whipped
combed and packed snow
ice crusted dunes
strain the winds over the buildings roofing
an extreme combing exposure
doubtlessly
they'll be no labor done today
On the seventh floor
i watch from behind
an environment sealed window
wolfing my lunch on a short break
in the warm fire escape
i watch
a solitary worker is ejected from a hatch in the exterior wall
cuffed by a spasm of wind
he descends a short bolted ladder
and makes a geared approach
crouching
his weight against the wind
he drags a heavy kit
mummified in protective clothing
passing my spot and he then heads outward
towards the bounds of the rooftop
he mends a stable stance
one foot close to the edge
the rest of him
in a low defensive pose
clips his harness to the gallows
stands to take a confident beating
of the breath stealing
brawling winter gale
he radios for the gantry to be raised
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 2:07 PM UTC
On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
The laundry mat, a necessary evil,
If you have no washer or drier,
That's where you go.
Clink clang, quarters fall out of the change machine
Only to be taken by the washers and dryers
In and out, people being loud
They come inside and then leave
Beep beep beep
Buzz, buzz, buzz
Washers and dryers crying out to be switched or
Started up again.
Heavy baskets of laundry are transported from place
To place.
Someone always leaving a sock or a pair of underwear behind,
Later curious as to where it went.
Many don't understand why people use the place
But when you are poor or don't have a place to put
A washer or a dryer, that is the loophole in the world of
Washer dryer ownership.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
I grew up
reading books about
boys
who say things like,
"You're so beautiful,"
or
"God, I can't believe
I've never known you
before"
and they kiss the girl
and they fall in love
and maybe there's a struggle
somewhere in the middle
but everything is
o k a y
and in the moments after
hearing how beautiful
and wonderful
and amazing
she is,
the girl is happy,
the girl is loved,
the girl is l o v e d.
The last boy who told me I was beautiful
didn't listen
when i said
NO
and I sobbed in my own bed
for three nights
and I couldn't touch my sheets
for five
because it takes a long time
to get blood stains out
when you use the cheap washers
in the dorms.
The last boy who told me I was amazing
left me at five in the morning
and said he'd call
and even as he looked me in the eye,
I knew he wouldn't.
The last boy who told me he liked me
said so as he tried to push my head
in a direction I didn't want it to go
and it seems
that all of these compliments
are meant to be segways
into getting something more.
These compliments
have turned into warnings,
red lights,
get out,
get out,
he only wants you
for your body
and I don't know
how I am ever supposed
to believe someone
when they actually mean it
when all I know
is sugar-coated bullets.
I am reading a book
where the boy whispers
promises between kisses
and I realize
I have never kissed anyone in
the light
and I am numb inside
and I do not want to be called
beautiful
anymore because to me
that means I am
about to be shot.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
does everything change
window washers
door openers
now
top suite pimpin’
used to think the life
was about big, tall buildings
and suite offices
was it all a fairytale in the wind
was it all a memory
gone bad
did we imagine
our greatness
take it to another level
only to be wooed
by cake
and free beverages
work
aholic
mentality
fogged out
by love
and
freedom
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
Watching the colors go round, and round.
The bright yellow towels making a halo,
in the dryer window, time trudging slowly.
Facing west, watching the sun set,
Washers and dryers humming in my ears,
Always feeling awkward sitting here alone.
Waiting for the buzzers to split the loud silence,
So I can finish my laundry, folding, hanging, packing,
And getting the heck outta Dodge!
I hate doing laundry.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
It’s one dollar per load Wednesday and
Time move’s slow at the corner of East Clinton Street
Where under dim flickered fluorescent lamp posts
Tricks tossed in bottles than splashed back in flasks
Flung to back pockets of loiterers at the Laundromat,
Seems to be a prized accessory of the regular.
The regular, leans on washers with leather skin wrinkled wrung hung far from healed bones, like hangers hanging loose clothes. With soapy brain, bleached hair matted like a rats
She remembers rents way past due, Joey about to come through, and hunger is bad.
Fast thoughts surpass the regular
She smiles behind me through glass reflecting washers.
Mouth full of rotting cavities gleam in the mirror, the sass shuffles outside and lights a red for a change of scenery
Waiting hesitantly during weekly ritual
Which entails more steps than her walk up the avenue
Separating the darks from the whites, like Grandma used to
Detergent, unbranded is used sparingly
She folds each article of clothing carefully, basking in each minute
Diligent about cold wash versus perm press best suggests that for her today life is made easy
For the regular, laundry day is a great escape
Because fabric builds fast in those plastic baskets basked with sweat saturated dresses for a baby
And Joey’s boxers
Today the regular can transact funds to feel fresh, dryer warm complacency in jean skirts plagued with rhinestones
Costumes crafted to endure weekend sin
At the corner of East Clinton Street, those who do not feel like feeling when dire deeds did ***** cheap lose meaning; come here to worship or cleansed
Meaning, I can’t seem to haul this hamper of laundry laundered with various v-neck tees tainted by poisonous stains, regretfully sunk to the bottom of cotton follicles
It’s too heavy to toil with
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
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Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
And slowly washers bear me up
through the dust and into the flanks of heaven
basking in the presence of the ether
and peeling off my skin
now we are nothing
soaked in the colour of our depths
the same but the same
and so pleasurably so––
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Nobody ever misses me right away.
I have a tendency of making my way into parts of your life that you don’t notice until long after I’m gone.
You’ll think of me in the laundromat, when someone three washers down has the same fabric softener I had just washed my clothes with the night before our first date.
You’ll think of me at the coffee shop, when someone ahead of you in line asks for three sugars and two creamers, like I used to.
You’ll think of me when your sister shows up to your house wearing the same nail polish I did the first time you kissed the back of my hand.
You’ll think of me when you’re in the car alone and you realize you don’t turn on the radio anymore, ‘cause our silence used to be better than whatever was playing.
You won’t really realize it until it’s too late and I’m too far gone.
Until I’m so deeply embedded into your memory and intertwined into your everyday life.
You won’t miss me immediately.
It’ll take some time.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
I smack babies with my wrist watch
**** washers in the backseat
mad talk about battle broads and coke hogs
I'm outside of town
out of coke. out of **** smoke
I binge on some coffee grounds my girl found between the seats
our sheets soak in blood behind the back seat
there's mud between my teeth.
my mothers grief, it cannot phase me
I'm lazy
I'm drunk
I'm going 90 and I can't see
but, there's people all around me
shouting things
I wring my socks out in the mouths
of all the people tied up in our car
I start to say "you're welcome" but I can't help but be distracted
by the Spanish girl in the middle
jaw unhinged and dripping spittle
she says "come a little closer"
I say "Jesus, take the wheel"
I stretch up close and smell her teeth
we close our eyes and start to breathe each others breath
I read her mind
she'd like to slice me like the swine she thinks I am
but I'm just glad
that I have cigarettes to burn her with
we'll happily take our turns with her
then we'll ditch her on some curb without a note
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
skyscrapers make the clouds cry.
they speckle their windows,
darkening the view that was promised.
window washers risk themselves
high above the puddled ground,
wiping away the sky's autograph.
too bad they didn't check the forecast-
could've saved themselves a trip back.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
bring me sunken ships. bring me the
daniel that called your name through
can't and nevers. he waited like a
switchback earring for the roller coaster
to simply answer a simple question in
regards to salt flats in Utah. the all-ages
cross-dress was broken in two and
expected to dance for the window washers
incorporated slogans, in what sense did the
teacher employ simile in the following sentence?
I like to like, it's like love but it's like. whistles and
bears make a combination as deadly as nitrogen
and nuclear fusion. any relation would have it's
way in Greek sandals marking Tumblr asks and
wondering where the littler of the 7 was born.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
The forgotten essential workers
Who is seldom mention.
Who is so often belittle,
Porters,
Cooks,
Laundry workers
Dish-washers,
Elevator-repair men
Recreations,
Front Desk clerks
Certified Nurse’s Aide
Home health aide
Waiters,
God! Oh how hard we work!
Private’s aides
Now as we celebrate Juneteenth 19
Black lives matters, can we really be seen
After four hundred years of oppressions
Can we tossed back river of tears
we are in 2020 is this our commission?
We as Essential workers in your nursing homes
Being tested twice a week,
By your essential worker phlebotomist
Who puncture my vein with his cannula?
For the governor executives order
listen up you uncouth nurses who poke
The swab sticks deep into my nose.
Listen this quackery has to end!
Pandemic, politics, election strategy
We essential need more respect.
You with your white privileges, and your treats
(RE: PCR swabbing, week being on Wednesday and ends on Tuesday.
If you work 4 or more days you need to be swabbed 2x per week
In a 48hrs time frame, if not you will be taken off the schedule
You will be humiliated, said the Administrator Mr. Sal
Because he is not a babysitter there to reminds you..
Said a non- professional white privileges)
as the city navigate the pandemic
moving on to injustices of systemic racism,
poverty, militarism and
a war economy:
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe..
I
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:16 AM UTC
Drip drip.
And so it fell.
Water into the well.
Well ,down the sink really.
Okay so the tap washers perished.
The water running free .
So annoying, can't turn it of
(C) LIVVI
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
penny pocketed pencil pushers
mutton chopped smash mouthers
salad tossers and *** washers
tangible tap dancers dancing
tea timing tofu fools spooling threads
dead men walk fed up with funeral talk
experimental drug takers bathe them
Meat cleaving beefeaters teach their kids to chop down
cedar
cockroach feeders jot down things
crossing their eyes they dot their T's
tea drinking spider creatures fight for meals
lightning buggers squeal
lighting up bellys and sharp teeth with a surreal glow
God knows I'm only trying to brown my nose
though, by ironing my clothes
it should only show that my clothes are ironed
My foes are inspired
and my friends are tired from all the walking
we go on, talking
and joke about the things that we saw
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
LEATHER AND LACE
I don't need a man anymore,
unless he fixes washers in taps.
Unless he can change a fuse and amuse me.
Perhaps.
He can keep me occupied,
That will never be denied.
My space can never be invaded,
I love my own place.
Adore my own space,
never will I step down and lose face.
I'm all dressed in leather, but wrapped up in lace.
I left silly little notes of love hidden in your room.
You found them and you giggled,
The big hard man stuck in his place.
He never realised his hard woman was made of leather and lace.
(c)Livvi
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
i have interviews;
plastic plants are placed squarely throughout stale spaces
the real plants are on desks and on window sills,
mainly private offices
where women sit and look out windows;
they wait once a month
for window washers to lather the glass
and it’s calm, their legs are crossed
they wait for the squeegee to screech
and then they wipe away the rain stains
that should have been pressed in a diary
windows get clean slates
at night you can hardly tell that anything is *****
but today the windows are stained
through sunlight one can see it all
even the grasshopper leg pinned to the fourth floor window
where a man is flossing his teeth
after having craved a super food salad
that he won’t allow his assistant to know about
i have interviews;
and i will pick at my **** stockings
hide my pleasant coffee stains
but not shave my ***** hair
i will sit with the women who take pleasure in windows;
collar bones with freckles and sun kissed tints
eyes always nearly closed
because of the succulent hisses by cubicle #3;
they slither through lungs and offer more
than how many words i can type
before someone lights up another cigarette
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC