laverie

this laundromat provides good inspiration.
one can look out onto french streets
through the big glass window.
of course the words get in the way of some details.
they are yellow and blue (the words)
and appear backwards on the window
as i look out from the inside.
i was alone for a while in here,
to sit and listen as the washers hum and chug;
with water and clothes and soap, the three elements
intermingling to make the sounds.
i had company for a minute, but now she's left.
but when she was here she was a black woman
with braids, jeans, and a black t-shirt.
we looked at one another once or twice, but never spoke.
she got here while my clothes were on "lavage"
and left just before "rincage", but really
it was only for a matter of minutes.
the dryers stare at me; big hollow eyes
at about tummy level standing up.
they are all closed, but none of them are on,
just idle, and staring.
every once in a while i'll see someone i know walk by,
just then he didn't look in, but some do.
still alone, i sit and look out past blue
and yellow letters at rue magnanen.