Saturday Afternoon: a launderette poem



It is time for another launderette poem
By another espresso macchiato

It is time for another good poem
It is time for another shitty poem
Of dirty laundry of dirty love
Of frothy coffee of blood-stained sheets

Single ladies immerse themselves
In the lifestyle pages of Saturday newspapers
Single bold men immerse themselves
In the motoring pages of Saturday newspapers

Boredom. I’m waiting for my laundry to dry
Kids around even more bored than their parents
Of themselves

Some pseudo-intellectual jazz in the background
Oozes even more boredom flowing heavily like ice-cream
From an ice-cream machine the day is kind of cold and kind of dark
But not quite

I hate incompleteness. I want fullness.
The deepest darkest gloom.The sweetest joy.
But I find myself over and over again
At the table with a morning newspaper
Cup of coffee, slice of toast;
Bland everydayness over and over again

Damn you England and your lack of seasons!
Yet , I cannot live anywhere else –
The Continent smells of Death and Resurrection.
Everydayness it is then, Amen.

smoking girl