Waiting For the Wash
I was slumped
in the plastic lawn chair
and was fixated
upon the spinning cycle
of the washing machine.
I stared at the psychedelic trip
of prismatic swirl and listened
to the innate hum of the machine’s innards
as the clothes
churned around and around in circles.
The tangled clothes were lustful dancers
in the gyrating, soaking discotheque.
The midnight blue leg of the jeans
seductively wrapped herself
around the arm of a dapper
and unexacting turtleneck.
A trio of tee shirts
stuck to the farther wall of the machine,
each afraid to venture near the vortex,
but each was curious
and watched the scene from a distance.
Two socks- one black, one white-
clung to a pair of boxers with such pathetic longing,
that it caused me to blush.
I watched the clothes the way a chaperone
would keep his eyes
on the student body at the prom.
It is at this point that I realize
I need to find a girlfriend.
Copyright © Matt Kindelmann | Year Posted 2005
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