It's a
cowardly blue
six coin Sunday
My panties mix with
your workshirt
red with gray
the white on your
nametag already bled
in too
Ten thousand dollars
wouldn't erase the burn
of it off of your chest;
an ego red
with a mere reminder
that you live life in a
nametag existence
Laundromat soap
washes the sober and drunk alike
the deaf and dumb
young and numb
I'm the only queen
in this joint, minus a crown
the rest are my secret
competitors
losing to a game of spades
they never knew they
entered
to a housedressed black woman
I linger in the doorway
-- one-sided conversations with God
battling the static from a short-wave
radio
God doesn't have a chance
to win out before I have to
surrender more quarters
Idly, I wonder what sex
would be like on a strip
of active washers-- the cost
of a half hour and the
spin cycle metaphor
"easy to use"
You won't step foot in here--
missing out on the tangle of
voices and humming
-- especially the way the
third machine needs an
angry hip and a curse word
to operate
Its not me you're embarrased of
rusting in here like a car
on cinderblocks half covered
by dust and leaves
daring to touch ribs
Its the look of me
-- a discount store icon
lugging a laundry basket
down the street
in barely-there flip flops
My inhale - exhale action
begs to be broken of you
Its not as tragic as you
make it; only 3 degrees of
regrettable
Apathy infects like a virus
smiling at you from the
porthole window
of a dryer
face pressed
against steamed glass
expressionless
and drunk on pity
chasing you in circles
60 rpms
I'm how you feel
at the end of the day
-- cowardly blue --
six coin Sunday
(c) 2002 FINDING SO(u)LUTIONS
cowardly blue
six coin Sunday
My panties mix with
your workshirt
red with gray
the white on your
nametag already bled
in too
Ten thousand dollars
wouldn't erase the burn
of it off of your chest;
an ego red
with a mere reminder
that you live life in a
nametag existence
Laundromat soap
washes the sober and drunk alike
the deaf and dumb
young and numb
I'm the only queen
in this joint, minus a crown
the rest are my secret
competitors
losing to a game of spades
they never knew they
entered
to a housedressed black woman
I linger in the doorway
-- one-sided conversations with God
battling the static from a short-wave
radio
God doesn't have a chance
to win out before I have to
surrender more quarters
Idly, I wonder what sex
would be like on a strip
of active washers-- the cost
of a half hour and the
spin cycle metaphor
"easy to use"
You won't step foot in here--
missing out on the tangle of
voices and humming
-- especially the way the
third machine needs an
angry hip and a curse word
to operate
Its not me you're embarrased of
rusting in here like a car
on cinderblocks half covered
by dust and leaves
daring to touch ribs
Its the look of me
-- a discount store icon
lugging a laundry basket
down the street
in barely-there flip flops
My inhale - exhale action
begs to be broken of you
Its not as tragic as you
make it; only 3 degrees of
regrettable
Apathy infects like a virus
smiling at you from the
porthole window
of a dryer
face pressed
against steamed glass
expressionless
and drunk on pity
chasing you in circles
60 rpms
I'm how you feel
at the end of the day
-- cowardly blue --
six coin Sunday
(c) 2002 FINDING SO(u)LUTIONS