is there anything as lonely as a washing machine with no laundry

a gaping maw waiting for sustenance, to perform the one function it has

i like to drop quarters into them when the laundromat is empty and they are all alone

let them slosh about with furious need, bereft of anything but purpose

i don’t think too hard about the why of it, afraid of opening that pandora’s box into myself

but there is something soothing about them fulfilling their duties in a world where so few do

giving meaning to those long droughts of meaningless existence like a loving god

the dryers, on the other hand, receive no attention, with their smug faces and superiority

this is drifting dangerously close to a breakthrough, the water has drained and all is content

for a moment, fleeting as it is, all feels right in the world, as long as we don’t analyze

just the washing machines and me