the neon in the window says ‘laundromat’
an infirmary for our indiscretions
a graveyard for our shames
the end of the line
for messes and mistakes
sheets and floor mats, spills and seepages
a public place to purge our secrets
secreted through the door in bags and trash cans
big slopping vats of pre-soaked pieces
some heads hung in shame,
others propped up in bravado
the human race, rubbing elbows
ordinary time mixing with memories best forgotten
nights of pleasure, and the messy fruit thereof
if we had more money, more space,
more manageable messes
we’d be behind closed doors
warm and protected
instead of in this fishbowl
where the scents of digestion
mix with the sharp hope of bleach
where bright lights betray permanent stains
so we come and go
choking on the way in
breathing free on the way out
cycling through our slow redemption
we who have been told
we can have it all
that everything will be alright
know better
yet we also know
the regeneration that comes
when we can move forward
imperceptibly, like a glacier
when we can at least
start afresh
with a fresh Tide
washing over our lives
not perfect, by any means
still with stains and scars
frayed edges and holes
but heading back to life
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I LOVE THIS!! This is now my favorite Stav poem.
This is so grossly accurate; it really should be published!! xoxoxoxoxox