Laundromat Poems - Poems about Laundromat

sitting in a laundromat watching people steal from the dryers wondering why people just up and leave their stuff, i shake my head and get back to the new zane novel it is then at the finish of chapter ten, i hear a scream that will add to all that haunt me wherever your stuff is, doggonit, you stay with it my...

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TV used to make laundromats feel exciting in their ads For those of you who have never been, you may be fooled. For those of us who have, we know better. You do not wear high heels, a dress, and pearls. You do not dance and sing around the dryers. There are crying children everywhere, and angry mothers. People are...

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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 ass in cushioned vinyl, erase all marks: ****, v-g-nal, penile, inkspot, red wine, dirt. O, sterilize her...

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In another lifetime, I was there As sudsy clothes, a’jumble, Went round and round until removed In damp and twisted tumble. Into the dryers they would go While I just sat there, reading, To help the time go by so boredom Skulked away, receding. When dry, the folded sheets and such Into my cart were nestled And schlepped to my apartment, Up five flights I daily...

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sporting new hairdo a bag of quarters for the laundromat posted on June 11, 2018...

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emotional laundromat memories placed within the washing machine of the wounded soul cleansing of the negative residue that resides within the broken heart place negativity within the dryer shrinking emotional scars...

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I enjoy watching Clothes tumble in the dryer At the laundromat; It reminds me of sunset And its swiftly changing hues....

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Sixteen unique individuals sit on sixteen washing machines. As they make small-talk they stare at sixteen dryers, all in a row chugging and churning to the same hum....

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I'm here do'in the wash, I wonder where are you, Been hearin' whispered tales, Of how you've been untrue Sure don't want to believe that, Would ruin my life for sure, If I should be so unlucky, To find you're but a whore, I have to wonder how and why lately, I get these kind of chores Especially when I came upon that hidden book in one...

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Thump, thump, thump must be sneakers in the dryer. Clunk, clunk, clunk washers changing cycles. Musaks in the laundromat make it impossible to read that novel which had you spellbound, but you brought it and found the metallic clattering kachung, kachung of the change dispenser (souding like winning slot machines) is not music to read by. Thump, clunk, kachung Wet mops that are hung to drip on the pop-splattered...

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She precisely folded the baby clothes and being a long time laundromat habitual, I recognized the signs. Obsession at the laundromat level is usually the last attempt at order in a life without. The two blackened puffy eyes and the swollen lip were not too subtle clues and the bent nose and scar upon the cheek told more of what she was going home to. She worked with...

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