Scenes From A Laundromat

 
3:02 pm.
Sunless winter
Crawled in the womb of afternoon
Gathering clouds by the yoke to devil's tune.
Brooding slurs and humdrum of whimpers rolled in irony
Rolling thespian tragedy of a change coming.

3:17pm.
The washers twitched
In methodical righteousness
Right, left, right streaking the pane
Reflecting the missing "T"
In green sign, Cus omer's Only
Spinning sins of mortality
Fools of immortality
Helical helix, entwined
Spiraling the beaten slippery-
Slops of consciousness.

3:48pm.
He's there again
In the handicapped space
Singing the Lord's prayer
Pacing, praising, declaring
$10 to heavenly gate.
"Behold, for there is no fear. No grief in believers"
Five dollars more than last November.
A pass 'n go to heavenly father.
*
Screech
Red lights flash, demanding
More coins.
I drop one then another
Tumbling tumbleweeds of prayers.

3:59pm.
The newspaper is upside down
Her hands raw, red, crooked
Claws branched in tattered threads
Trembling in gestalt of differences
Cold, fragile, old perhaps too bold
Focused on the word
At the end of the row
Waiting for the storm
Marching through the walls
To mellow in the marrow.

4:00pm
Shadows recede
Coiling backwards
From lesser to less
The future bowing to the present
Both bowing to the past.