Faith is a sock
left overnight
in a public dryer
of a churning laundromat.

Where, under our hangover halos,
we swear the soda machines
clank slower every week,
soap thins to drool,
and the milky glass
of the dryer portholes
clouds up further
every week.

We end up folding things
and avoiding feeling
paranoid that our
funhouse laundromat
is crumbling down
around our linen.

It's not the kind of place
you'd risk to rest a sock in.

But if in the morning, the dryer is empty
and your sock gone missing, eh:
you're out a sock, so what?
And if your sock is still there
in the morning, in this laundromat ...
well, you can put the sock on
me, or I on you,
and I won't ask you why
you shivered

when we slipped out
with our warm feet.


© 2005 by Mike Young. All rights reserved.