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.