Laundry night

I went to the laundry with a set of keys,
A red sports barrel, and a few coins in my pocket.

From the bag I took out my clothes.

From the side of the barrel
I pulled out a stack of paper—letter-sized
And a little creased at one of the corners.

Near the short table by the entrance
I fished for a pen that was always there.

I started to write.

Staring at one of the washers, not mine. I was done
Before I knew it. Washer was still running, toiling
My clothes in visible wreath.

The postbox was right around the corner,
Up a little ramp. I would head off to drop my mail

And felt a slight breeze brushing

By as I took my strides down,
Down the ramp, down—returning to the laundry
With renewed hope.

Dale Chou
2012-10-02