no one looks happy at the laundromat, dour faces and spinning loads
faces staring at phones, children running about bored, at least the ones without phones to stare at
we all air our dirty laundry at some point, why not in a building dedicated to it
let the cyclical cleansing begin
the dirt and stains of another week down, the new one beginning
let us face it clean
staring at our own faces staring into tiny screens while the big windows show an indifferent world slowly drifting past outside
if cleanliness is next to godliness
then god is staring at his phone while the entire world burns
as near as i can tell
yet here i sit alone
tapping out another poem to the indifference, seeking to make a difference, but no one seems to care
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I’ve met some interesting people at the laundromat. Oh so many interesting people.
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My big issue is the language barrier here. I’d love to chat with them but my Spanish is subpar at best.
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I don’t have that problem in Alaska. Sometimes they speak Russian, but usually not.
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so many screens, the one in our hands, the one when we lift our eyes, but most real and important, the watcher that screens the screens…… who taps out the poem into the burning world.
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your comments always fill me with little storms of joy. thank you.
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