uncomfortable laundry

A poem

There once was a man
that I believed lived
In my cold, unfinished
Dimly lit basement

That is where our washer
And dryer exist
With detergents and bleaches
And other clean things

At a young age I began
Holding my own
Cleaning my clothing and
Folding them too

With my back to the stairs
I filled the machine with
Heavy, cold, damp clothes
Set the timer and turned

On my heels I spun
And halted in fright
The man was not a man
But a shadow, lack of light

His edges were fuzzy
I wasn’t sure what I saw
I remember that day
But anything else I’ve forgot

I no longer believe in
That sort of thing but
I sometimes wonder
If he still lives in the basement