Late Night Laundry

Doing a load of laundry in the middle of the night,

After Saturday night has given way to Sunday morning,

In a small condo out in the dark and isolated small town.

Busy work, after the night has denied me sleep,

And I cannot lie still in my bed.

When Dad was alive, he might have been up at this hour,

The men in this family committed insomniacs,

Doing long tours of duty in the dark.

He might have been watching an action movie, or war

Movie from the free VOD choices.

He might have watched a girly romance,

If he was really desperate for distraction.

What thoughts did he try to silence in the depths of night?

He never talked about his soul.
He was an entertainer, who slouched and disengaged

Without an audience.

And I, I am just the same.

The washing machine shimmies and shakes,

Like Elvis the Pelvis, scandalizing the rough

Linoleum floor.

Clean clothes, not immediately needed,

But like Dad and his movies, I need escape,

Escape from my thoughts and memories.

(Though I never fought in a war. I am just a broken, malfunctioning mind)

Folding will be nice busy work, as the sun rises, and the

Classical music on NPR gives way to more bad news.

I will finish this task as Mom comes downstairs,

And asks me, softly, gently, if I want to go to church with her.

I will not answer, but will take the laundry basket upstairs

To my room, hand the shirts and hoodies, and put the

Jeans in the chest of drawers.

Then I will lay down, thankful that Sunday is a day off from

Work, and finally sleep, as the day is cruel noise,

And the night, the night is soothing silence.