Assumptions

What with shoveling all the snow yesterday dumped on my stairs, I was worried I would be too tired to do a free-write. I should have known better.

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Fifty pound dog kibble sack: empty.
Army surplus backpack: full of this and that.
Bud Light can: forty but now twenty after a long sit down

In the downtown Laundromat,
waiting for clean clothes in out of the cold.
Two feet of snow dropped yesterday and the roads
Aren’t easy walking between the water and the cars.

Slumped in a chair
Back to the windows, wet boots stuck out
under the hot air vent, it’s the best sort of wind that blows.

It’s a hard day’s walking ahead, he knows,
slipping through drifts and over-the-boot-tops slush, unplowed
Sidewalks stretching ahead and behind.

Wind whips the powerlines so much the poles move
As the washer washes and the dryers tumble: twenty four hours
open no matter the weather. It’s always safe and dry.

Doing the load of laundry and hoping the sun will get a little warmer
By the time the laundry dries he’ll finish drinking and fold.
And back the clothing goes, not fifty pounds of puppy chow but
Something to weight the shoulder and carry on to home.

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Because, of course, the laundromat is a secret hiding spot for inspiration. I don't know whether the man I saw was homeless or not, but he was definitely wandering around town drinking beer and carrying a dog food bag full of laundry.

I may come back to this poem later and work out some more of the clunkers. I realize I wasn't very consistent with the punctuation and capitalization, either. Oh well. It's something to save for a rainy day, I suppose.

~Later