Wash Cycle

For as much time as I prefer to spend inside my head

I also spend a fair amount of time disliking what's in there

Like I'm stuck inside a washing machine,

hurled around in the wash cycle,

bobbing against the walls

Seeing someone outside the bubble window

as I'm soaking wet and shivering,

and they are standing still

I am unable to possibly relate to something so calm

"Open the door," I garble,

choking on soapy water

"But then I'll get all wet," they say,

voice slithering warm and heavy

the way thickened syrup falls onto pancakes

"How do I stop this thing?" I gasp,

during a fleeting moment with air

"You wait."

And through the window covered in suds,

I watch them shove their hands in their pockets,

turn to walk away

"You won't wait with me?" I cry out,

but I am already alone

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

We can all relate to this poem. Though we all end up in that machine, we always feel alone, a spectacle for others, not realizing their perception... they, too, see themselves alone, looking in. Good write!