Spin Cycle

"Spin Cycle”

I just know him way too personally—
folding his laundry, holding it close to me.

He’s littered with need-me’s and see-me’s;
I’m writing his ending, his forever
in the laundromat, ironing out creases, and,
I hope he doesn’t find my love letters that I purposely left in my pockets.

’Cause then he’d know:
I’m tumbling like my clothes,
running in circles, cycling like footsteps,
tripping over myself like tripped tiptoes,
building my blanket out of lint traps.

We’re in the mat, wishing we were wealthy.
Hoping the foul smell we brought in will turn into Gain.
But why are all the bags we gathered empty?
We've both brought nothing to clean...

Why’s our end written in the laundromat?
Baby, please tell me this ain’t all you got.

We’re in the laundromat—
I fell in love, it’s my own story--but I’m an expat,
running from the cleansing water like a filthy rat who loves its trash.

Roll and tumble me like a T-shirt,
but I’m a paper bag.
I’m the line in your creased shirt—
I’ll exist until you iron me out.

I hope your knees hurt—
bending over,
trying to divvy up the whites from the colours-- the who's, who's and the what's what.

The mess is ours.

Baby, I’m sorry if the bleach hurts, I'm just tryna fix your favorite shirt
Side note: Look over here! I know how much you love my thigh-high skirts...

We’re bad for each other.
But I don’t know—
We make it work.

Put your quarters in me.
I got all the rusty pennies
to tie-dye all your shirts.

It’s a machine—
that works for cost,
as long as we rinse, repeat, and rewash.

It’s like time stops
while I’m scrubbing out the spots,
And he just watches the clock—
so totally unaware
of our missing socks
that got lost; 

In the Spin Cycle.