Sometimes I Feel Like Screaming.

Inside a laundromat's luminous, sleepy window,

among the low-pitched, hypnotizing hum

of stainless steel washers and dryers,

he sits in his usual dull green chair and waits.

His observations alternate between

frumpy women, dryers that hug the wall,

and an impatient wristwatch. 

He's keenly aware a worker replaced two plants

on the line of dryers he sits beside.

And outside, a timid fall of rain has begun

to sway in the streetlights from the wind.

It's 8:00 PM.

In full dryers, he watches clothes whirl, spin,

and fall, implying to him the heated passion

of long-time lovers.

But the empty dryers feel more like kindred spirits. 

Slipping into fantasy, he sees himself at home,

placing his wife's downy-scented shirts

in her drawer the way she likes them.  

But when harsh reality slips back into place,

he's painfully aware, because there is no wife.

He knows this laundromat is an asylum

to pass time in an ugly, lonely plastic chair.

On this night, as on countless others,

time will slip away bit by bit

underneath dingy neon and fluorescent lights

before he hoists his sack to trod

the long walk home under a bleak

night sky.

At 9:17 PM after leaving,

a young carefree couple,

in pouring rain,

runs past him under a streetlight,

laughing loudly, while smacking their feet

in any puddle in the way.

Occasionally switching his heavy sack

from shoulder to shoulder,

he walks on waves of rain

that slap leaves of trees

and hears the couple's voices fade

to sounds of distant thunder.

Lights glow in the windows of houses.

When he gets home, it'll be dry, empty, and solitary.

And a chair awaits. 

Author's Note

Thank you to those of you who read this.

Reviews

[Marie]

You captured the atmosphere of the self service laundry superbly in this very poignant poem, dear R... My heart went out to the gentleman who sat on a plastic chair while his active mind slipped into a fantasy of he being at home with his wife, then the very painful realisation that he has no wife, not sure if she has crossed over to Spirit or left him, but it brings him down emotionally to ponder on it. When his wash is finally finished, he has a huge sack to carry home, weighty, he shifts it from one shoulder to the other as he walks. He encounters a couple in the street and I feel they remind him of when he and his wife were young too and he feels saddened that those days drifted by so quickly. Finally when he arrives home he will be met by darkness, unlike the other houses there will be no welcoming light in the windows and all that will be waiting for him on arrival is an empty chair, no one to greet him, no fire to warm him, no arms to embrace him warmly and no lips to kiss him gently and lovingly. Kudos dear R... This poem is superbly inked and finely narrated. It is a gripping story which refuses to let the reader go, even when the poem has ended, because the imagery is locked in the reader's mind and I know it will be recalled many times in the coming days. The story represents so many people who are alone and lonely. It is heartbreaking! WONDERFUL write, dear R... THANK YOU! for sharing, dear poet...

[Relic]

I really appreciate your comment, Marie. You pretty much put into perspective nicely. :) Thank you.

[Marie]

Most welcome always, dear R...

[emmajoygreen]

From start to finish I was deep into this finely described place, its atmosphere, such acute observations, the man's feelings about this or that dryer's contents, passing time, his reactions.. .. still there.. until.. departure. Your final words should have been warm and welcoming, but go back to the beginning,
'he sits in his usual dull green chair and waits'. He returns home to nothing more than a waiting chair. This is a brilliantly melancholic write wrapped around so many possible quotes:

'outside, a timid fall of rain has begun
to sway in the streetlights from the wind.'

'a young, carefree couple,
runs past him under a streetlight,
laughing loudly, while smacking their feet
in any puddle in the way,
Walking on waves of rain
that slap leaves of trees,
he hears their voices fade to sounds
of distant thunder.'

(This brilliantly written poem suggests a black and white movie with occasional riffs of drumming to suggest those dryers..throbbing at time.. fading at others.)

[Ken Simm.]

I think the answer is I most definitely empathise with this moody and atmospheric tale. Gives me a fell of Edward Hopper for some reason.

[Relic]

Edward Hopper? Never heard of him. I'll have to look him up. Thanks so much for the comment, Ken. :)

[Ken Simm.]

An American painter of moody pieces. THe Nighthawk being his most celebrated.

[Relic]

Ah, yes, after looking at the picture I do remember seeing that before. He's an iconic painter for sure.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This made me think back on the days when I was younger and used to go to the laundromat, the sounds, the smells, the secret glances at people folding their clothes and their own secret glances at others doing the same. There was nothing to occupy my time in those days but a book in my hand. There were no phones with videos or games to play. Oftentimes, I would put the laundry in to watch and then grocery shop at the Food Lion next door, only to return and dry the laundry. I always tried to accomplish multiple things at once ... laundry, grocery shopping, washing the car, etc. No time was ever wasted. Then, I would go home and spend two hours ironing.

The loneliness within your poem is palpable, the thoughts spinning around like clothes in the dryer. The contemplation within the quiet is felt.

Well penned.

Linda

[Relic]

Thanks for your thoughts, Linda. Always appreciated. :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I often found the laundromat to be this way, watching the clothes spin in the dryer and thinking of how my life was just spinning along...some divorces later I can remember these same thoughts...as love seems to be a cycle of spinning, fluffed shirts, then lost socks, a heart missing something.
I really like this...in stanza 6 did you mean "drawer"?

THis touches the soul...and the pace of it, reading it slowly, allows us to really feel the monotony of being alone.
nicely done, Tim.
j.

[Relic]

Thanks for the comment and for catching that, J. Much appreciated.

[Bhuyanshi Talukdar]

This revised poem is a poignant and evocative portrait of a man's solitary existence, as he waits for his laundry to finish in a laundromat. The use of sensory details, such as the "low-pitched, hypnotizing hum / of stainless steel washers and dryers," creates a vivid and immersive atmosphere that draws the reader into the scene and the speaker's thoughts and emotions.

The speaker's observations of the people and objects around him are both mundane and profound, reflecting his deep loneliness and longing for connection. The lines "But when harsh reality slips back into place, / he's painfully aware / his dryer lacks the fullness of the others / because there is no wife" are particularly moving, highlighting the ways in which our surroundings can amplify our sense of isolation and loss.

The final lines of the poem, which are cut off mid-sentence, create a sense of ambiguity and open-endedness, leaving the reader to wonder what happens next and what the future holds for the speaker. This sense of uncertainty and possibility is a powerful reminder of the fragility and complexity of human experience.

Overall, this is a beautifully crafted and deeply affecting poem that captures the loneliness, longing, and resilience of the human spirit.

[Relic]

This comment sounds like it's been AI generated.

[Dr. YumnaKay]

Yea, as someone who's forced to use chatgpt by a client, I can verify this is exactly how an AI-generated response is like.

Sorry for barging in, Tim. Hope you're well

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I second this emotion, Yumna...I think we would all prefer reviews that are from the heart. They don't have to be perfect, but REAL.

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn..]

Relic,

know it or not, you have set to pen of page all the thrill of life that is left to me, after the passing of my wife a year and a half ago ... I to walk to the laundromat and return to the still silence of an empty apartment that is now my home ... A very poignant piece of writing here, in my personal opinion ...

Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

[Relic]

Thank you for your touching comment, Marvin. I'm sorry you can identify with so well. I wish you good days ahead.

[Fran Marie]

A second read on this one, Tim
still such despair seeping through
each line,

a certain dullness of existence and
heart wretching emotions spilling forth
Well conveyed poem

[Relic]

Thank you very much for taking the time to give it a second read, Fran. :)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This is really very good writing. It sets a mood in a conversational tone with observations that move the reader with nuance and environment. Though the tone may be a depressing one, it's the presentation that makes it like watching film noir; darkly voyeuristic and attractive. I enjoyed the read even though I hate the laundromat. ;)

[Relic]

lol much appreciated, Fabian. Thanks.

[Lorry]

I've always felt that laundromat have the uncanny ability to shrink your soul, as you await with mind numbing inevitability, the stifling hopelessness of heat and smell of other people, faintly nbit not quite covered by detergents and fabric softeners, whose chemical undertone only add to the craziness and isolation of so many, whose eyes begin to impersonate the spin cycle of the masses, too fearful to make eye contact in case it raises an eyebrow, or even worse, a conversation.
The title says it all really.. ARGH!!! 😊

[Relic]

I like your interprettion, Lorry. The laundrymat can be a place of dread for some people. Thanks for the comment. :)