poemimage

I’m in the

laundromat

because my dryer broke

and this radio is too loud

and every song sounds insincere –

finally Annie Lennox and

the Eurythmics are singing

Talk to Me.

I wonder when I’ll ever

get around to reading

Ulysses.

The radiator is painted

an almost indescribable

shade of turquoise.

Lively but dead serious –

mechanical.

The top of each rib protrudes

thin, flat and sharp.

I can imagine these edges

pressing into my face

after they arrest me in the

grand sweep.

Harnesses and 19th century

contraptions hoisting the radiator

above prisoners strapped to beds.

Thirty full seconds for each

inmate.

What if they decide to heat them?

Loud sirens nearby.

A city wind blowing

through the open door.

A guy reading a

book asks me

if I smell

cigarette smoke.

“No.”

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