Laundromat Songs

LAUNDROMAT SONGS

“How long shall they kill our prophets

as we stand aside and look?”   

             ‑‑ Bob Marley

Saturday morning,

the scene’s the same

round and round

suds and foam,

round and round

energetic flashes of life

play, giggle, and roam.

“Can I have a quarter

to play video games?

Hey mom, can I get a

soda and some chips?”

It’s always bedlam,

even at 3 am,

always the same

neighborhood faces

some smiling, others

wrinkled like

clothes with a stain problem.

Clothes and lives

sharing destinies.

Dirty clothes, old and worn,

dirty, hard driven lives.

Both, beat and torn,

both trying to get clean

fresh from this

bone weariness

reflected like patched knees,

lost buttons,

mismatched sox,

or, those brown streaked undies, 

reflecting our brown stained lives.

Round and round go the clothes.

Round and round so goes our lives

that no matter what we do

seems always in need of mending.

Round and round

women, kids

and clothes in tow.

Men, if there,

in the background,

begrudgingly,

but always fighting for control.

Sometimes though, the juke wails

joyful music prevails

causing feet to tap

and lips to smile.

Maybe some Miles

or hip-hop Coup

announce a new rinse cycle.

Some young’un dropped the coin

but you can see

all are keeping time

with these way out songs.

Finally, eyes reveal hidden,

no more suppressed,

revelry,

clothes are folded musically.

The kid knows his tunes,

out jumps a “classic”;

“Redemption Songs”.

Marley at his best

conscious style, a request.

“Won’t you help me sing

these songs of freedom.

Redemption songs.

They’re all I ever had

redemption songs.”

You can see it in

lint filled air swirling,

eyes gleaming,

kids screaming;

you can taste the hope

and dreams.

A joyous hunger

of patched jeans,

men and women sway in unison.

For 3 minutes, 25 seconds,

on this very early morn,

the possibilities of relations

rinsed clean,

of men and women

folding clothes,

smelling fresh,

wishing for a better way.

It is only a glimpse

this Saturday morning.

A round and round scene

that holds promise

as old, worn clothes

wash,

spin,

dry

and leave refreshed,

clean.

On this morn

a few eyes, alert

wishful,

leave singing;

“Redemption songs,

they’re all I ever  had,

these songs of  freedom.” 

(Note: the quoted lines are from “Redemption Songs

by Bob Marley; one of his best in my opinion.)