laundry

The Mat

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Say it ain't so,

trapper in her own little world,

the sounds, smells,

and whirl of the ceiling fan

 

spins unnoticed, 

unfelt,

with the security 

and familiarity of her headphones.

 

The music,

unknown, 

the art that is decorating 

her time

 

sealing away

the ugly world around her.

Given unto her

the superpower

 

to make the whole wide world

completely melt away.

Her eyes never breaking 

a horizontal plane,

 

not out of submission, 

but from avoidance.

The lack

of eye-contact

 

can be unsettling to some, 

perhaps to the ones 

who cannot stand silence.

 

But in silence she works,

folding her laundry,

being sure to block all view

of any unmentionable 

 

she plucks up

to fold.

To the observation 

of the outsider,

 

an observer

would see or anything 

practically any and all

back story

 

only to be

most likely 

incorrect.

 

And she will never care,

never know

she is the topic of light scrutiny, 

so that script can be written, 

 

the unaware volunteer

for the unwarranted play

playing in front.

For there is nothing but a scene,

 

of washers and dryers,

an incredibly clean location, 

and with the only movement 

being the one

 

who has made a point

that she does not want

attention; 

she becomes the only subject 

 

on stage.

A boring play.

Smelling of fragrance;

after the rain."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Memories of a day at the laundry mat.