I like this Walter Griffin poem very much. I’ve rarely had occasion to use laundromats; only after my first divorce was I a regular patron for a few weeks. In later years, when singleness struck and I had lost another Maytag or Kenmore in a divorce, I splurged for “fluff and fold.” But the fumbling with soap and coins and the anxious worrying about whether the change will run out before the clothes are dry — this I know.
Lord willing, I will never be the old man in the laundromat. But this haunts me all the same.
Old Men and Laundromats
After the initial terror of
laying out your clothes in front
of everyone, it’s where to put
the money, the clothes before
water or the detergent first
or in between the clothes.
Your fingers find the quarters,
slip them into slots, push and
listen to the water, vaguely familiar,
like your heart between the covers
at night or with your head in the
surf when you were a child. Then
sitting down to watch your drawers
circling in suds inside the belly
of the machine, in this place you
are so afraid to come to; where
people will know how human
you are, that you have to wash
your underwear out in front of
strangers, where the water is hot
and women laugh, folding their
clothes so knowingly inside the
launderette that reminds you
of someplace else. And my
God, there are the dryers moving
so fast, lids closed. Any germs
will die in all that heat, or so they
say. And you grab your laundry as
soon as the spinning stops and run
outside with your clothes still hot
and wrinkled, dropping things,
always forgetting something.
Now I remember. Today I have to do the laundry.
Great poem, though.
I always enjoy reading the poems you post. They speak to me. Thanks so much.
Hugo,
I am honored that you used my poem, “Old Men and Laundromats,” on your website. I’m still terrified of those places, and I still let dirty clothes pile up around my house for a long time because of it. When you get a chance, check me out on THE NEW GEORGIA ENCYCLOPEDIA in the lit section.
Again, my sincerest thanks,
Walter