Old man stumbles, bringing in his wash
Woman’s work, dumped on the counter
From exhaustion or disgust, who can tell
Nearby the hanger-on, chatting up the laundry lady (cute and curvy)
Kicks the toe of one Timberland against the molding
Feigns deference to his elder
“Have a good day, sir,” lowering his voice at the last syllable
The subtext is clear:
“You’re old and will die soon, but I have years to waste.
And waste them I will, in more sad laundromats than you will ever know.”
Other patrons hunch over blue screens
All part of some common phone mind
Or devotion to a cult, the Godless God Verizon
Who can say whether these silos of separation
Invite in or defend against connection.