Long Dryers Poems
Long Dryers Poems. Below are the most popular long Dryers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dryers poems by poem length and keyword.
Yes, we had a washer, but no dryer yet
So we hung our clothes out on the line to dry
with those old wooden clothes pins, you know
and after dinner we retired to the balcony
to sit and sip tea, often with neighbors
who dropped by to catch up on the local gossip...
Those nights seemed to go on and on, at least
until my bedtime, 9:30 p.m. -- so unfair! -- at
which point the 'adult talk' commenced, an
occasional burst of laughter punctuating the air...
Seems nobody's got time for each other on
our old block these days -- the balconies sure are
empty at night -- or else perhaps folks just got
so busy with their new-fangled dryers, flat-screen
TVs, smartphones and whatnot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A penny face-up in the gutter—
Abraham’s copper gaze half-lidded with rain.
I pocket him like a secret,
like the first digit in an equation
no one taught me to how to solve.
The laundromat coughs up dimes~
silver cataracts rolled under dryers,
buried beneath lint and lost socks.
I tally them in my palm,
each one a tiny moon
pulled from the tide of neglect.
My grandmother saved buttons in a jar,
swore they were pirate treasure.
I collect coins instead~
nickels in parking lots,
quarters wedged between bus seats,
their edges bitten with teeth marks.
When the year ends,
I spill them all onto the kitchen table~
a metal harvest, a jingling autopsy.
Enough for a coffee,
a lottery ticket,
or the weight of knowing
that fortune isn’t a mountain
but the slow accumulation
of what everyone else
steps over.
sitting in a laundromat
watching people steal from the dryers
wondering why people just up and leave their stuff,
i shake my head and get back to the new zane novel
it is then at the finish of chapter ten,
i hear a scream that will add to all that haunt me
wherever your stuff is, doggonit, you stay with it
my light load is now done
i place the bookmark of heaven at the beginning of chapter eleven
i fold the light load up quickly and immediately exit
i go straight to Lowe's and get that stackable that is on sale
no more laundromat for me
dumb ish happens up in there no matter which one that you go to
at least it does when i go
yes, God was tryin' to tell me somethin',
or perhaps, i was tellin' myself somethin' without knowin'
home, from now on, will be the ONLY laundromat where i will be at
Donning rubber gloves, the wife does washing of clothes and dishes...
(plus cutlery, pots pans, et cetera) in the kitchenette sink.
She started what would immediately become
a first and last generation tradition
(the spouse as washer woman
and scullery maid)
soon after we moved here
eight years ago come July 1st, 2025.
I trumpet her pioneer spirit
to apply elbow grease
(to tackle tough
heavily stained articles of clothing
(after her weary cowboy husband
comes back home on the range
after a hot day rustling cattle)
think underwear of mine -
whereat even bleach
falls short of removing
stubborn noticeable discoloration)
such gusto similarly applied
to glassware or cookware caked
with crusty hardened food.
After washing wearable goods,
she squeezes the excess water
from saturated item(s)
and drapes still moderately wet garment
over drying racks
despite the availability
of clothes washers and dryers
here on the premises
of Highland Manor Apartments.
Though she continues to threaten
with colorful epithets
never to wash my clothes ever again,
her words ring hollow
when some time elapses
and... guess what?
yepper, her hands slide down
into the behavioral sink
and I make sure
to acknowledge gratitude,
yet admit to falling short
of filling in the blank
(with a select response),
when she asks me
what will I give her in return.
Earlier in our
almost thirty year marriage,
we (I more so than the wife)
used to be conditional
and if asked a favor,
the immediate response
from yours truly (me)
just so happened to be
what do I get in return?
That Pavlovian feedback loop
occurred way before
my libido took a kamikaze dive,
into a suicide mission
a strong suspicion arises
(but I dare not utter
a premature ejaculation)
videlicet that being adverse effects
linkedin with one or more
of the nine prescription medications
ingested for mental health issues
such as anxiety, dysthymia,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
and palmar hyperhidrosis
could be the only logical explanation,
and interestingly enough,
I breathe a sigh of relief
cuz all to often sexual fantasies
ofttimes filled every waking
and sleeping hour of mine.
As a teenager, I was so lean and lanky.
My mother worried over my physical stature.
She believed that all the nutrients in my diet,
were rapaciously devoured by my hair.
From childhood onwards, I had long, thick hair
that cascaded down my back like a jumping cataract.
Each time I got ready for school in my uniform,
my mom had trouble plaiting it into two pigtails.
After school, it took much of my time to tease apart the strands,
release and unbind, what my mom had so neatly done.
She wanted to cut my hair short, I too agreed
as it took so long for me to have my hair dried after every bath.
(It was a time when we had not even heard of hair dryers!)
When I conveyed my mom’s decision to my friends,
they said in unison- “Your long hair is your sole attraction,
we are all jealous of you for it. If you cut it
you’ll be like a sheep after its fleece is sheared,
Oh, so ugly”
My hair was straight like stick, black and glossy without even a curve.
I was so upset about it as curly hair was what everyone preferred,
in a village without the ‘refinement’ and sophistications of urban life.
After every long journey, I had to spend hours clearing the tangles of my hair.
When I entered college, my hair became my distinguishing mark.
All referred to me as ‘the girl with long hair’ and it became my identity.
Girls from cities had begun frequenting parlours for straightening their hair
I was happy I had natural straight hair without recourse to artificial means
Thus, for the first time, I began feeling proud of my hair.
I spent hours before the mirror, admiring my hair and tying it in styles, varied.
Also started wearing it with my chin up and flaunting it unabashedly.
When I joined college as a lecturer, I could hear exclamations of ‘wow’
from my students, whenever I turned to the black board to write something,
and my silly feminine heart fluttered in vanity like a peacock.
Before long, silver threads began to peek here and there.
When they came in one and two, I plucked them away.
But Time, like a mischievous imp began to play nasty games.
In a couple of years, I was all grey and now I thrive on hair dye.
Indeed, a messy job! To make things easy I have cut my hair short.
Sad, my mother is not there to see me in short hair!
Once a week we do the wash;
It’s part of our routine.
With just the two of us at home,
There’s not that much to clean.
Apartment living means, for one,
Machines are there to share.
The basement has the laundry room;
We do the washes there.
My husband loads the washers
After I have bagged the clothes,
Then switches them to dryers,
Which is how cycle goes.
We both head down, when time has passed,
To fold and stack the load.
He piles his items, I do mine
And by a silent code…
We split the sheets and towels
And whatever else we share
Until the dryer’s empty
And the folding table’s bare.
We schlep the basket back upstairs
And put the wash away
Until next week, when once again
It will be laundry day.
TV used to make laundromats feel exciting in their ads
For those of you who have never been, you may be fooled.
For those of us who have, we know better.
You do not wear high heels, a dress, and pearls.
You do not dance and sing around the dryers.
There are crying children everywhere, and angry mothers.
People are impolite and rude before they leave
Everyone is tired, and their backs are breaking.
The laundry mat is not a place to go to relax.
You cannot read there. The machines are too loud.
There is a change machine, but it is usually out of coins.
Especially on Saturday morning, when everyone is there.
You try to choose a time when no one is there.
Good luck, it cannot be done.
If you have to sell your children to buy your own washer, do it.
We live as kings and queens of yesterday could only dream
Central heat, plumbing, air-conditioning, washers and dryers too
We shower once or twice a day, with conditioner and shampoo
Steak every night should we want it, followed by cake and ice cream
So why all the self-absorbed anxiety? Why all the alienation?
You'd think we'd be glad of more time to exercise our imagination
Difference is royalty had servants who responded to their every command
Kings and Queens had lively instantaneous conversation on demand
Dependent on machines, woe are we
Leading emotion-free lives
of people-less poverty
Thunder Cats roared onto the cartoon scene in the Eighties.
Bringing forth SHE-roes and Heroes which was exciting for many.
My children probably enjoyed them, I do not remember.
This was during the time when TV was guiding them more than I was.
I was attending three colleges simultaneously
Trying to get a degree in something so I could make a living.
I do recognize the music of Thunder Cats
And I recognize the SHE-roe attitude in all three of my daughters.
I have a Thundercat shirt I wear sometimes to school.
As a reminder that my children not only survived
But thrived
Thanks to creative cartoonists
who decided to empower women in the eighties.
I wish they had been around twenty years earlier
When all we saw on TV were happy women wearing
pearls and full dresses, loving their washing machines and dryers.
TV SHOPPING MADNESS
The mad Christmas shopping on
TV has begun.
Hair dryers for close to 400 dollars.
Tons of electrical stuff that will make us anything
but Rhodes scholars!.
Some of you ladies will remember
when clothes came in sizes?
Now they like Zeppelins, we,
too,can look the one that rises!
Vacuum cleaners, of all types.
My favorite for three hundred dollars
is one robotic.
That spins on your floor, shiny
and makes me totally hypnotic!
Serums, masks and cremes galore.
You put on a beauty mask,and you will be
twenty-one when you walk out the door?
All manner of organizers, leopard,
patriotic or gold,
Truly, a sight one would have to behold.
Those who do not have a TV, now
don't let your egos get you huffy!
Commercialism has a way of getting to
you!
Even with beds for your faithful dog~
Muffy.
I have never seen HSN and QVC
in such a panic!
One product every ten minutes?
It makes me mutterly manic!
So, back to soothing music and
writing poetry.
And very choice readings from the
inspiring of you, to humanity.
November 9, 2019
~Panagiota~