Megan Doney

Haiku On The Laundromat In My Town

Fourteen-year-old girls flared jeans dragging in the mud pushing carriages hips cocked watching WalMart panties spin in sudsy bright rolls laundry monitors guarding the rolls of quarters policing urchins 90210 on corner televisions Is Brenda pregnant? Wobbly white couples leaning on their laundry carts like guarded gangsters dryer sheets float like holy bread from the heavens leaving us spring fresh The attendant screams, Don't overload the machines! Impish children cringe She has hair like broom bristles, acid washed blue jeans ancient teeth and eyes. I am unbalanced! There's a shoe in my washer kicking its way out like an insistent fetus, mouth pinched, fists clenched, claws scraping through my gut. My husband's boxer shorts do a merry plaid jig fluttering tartan Drop off and pick up, have a cold beer while you wait. Anything to leave.

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