A launderette in Islington

A launderette in Islington

And people sit

So closely together on the bench seat

Yet my guess is, so very far apart

Watching the clothes go around.

Industrial sized tumble dryers

Have a magical effect

Hypnotising young and old

Housed and un-homed

What do they see in the press

Of arms and legs

The brush of bra and cotton pants

A young stud

A sensual dance

Perhaps they hope for a striptease

As everything is washed and dried

Peeling off the old

Leaving as clean as a new pin

I never sit in my laundry room

Watching the washing tumble

But grumble at the noise it makes

When it stops…a sharp beep…pause…beep

Never leave the dryer on when you go to sleep

It is not just a distraction

But a fire hazard

Perhaps a laundrette is more a public service

Than a convenience

Centres of social cohesion

When strangers gather together

And leave knowing more about each other

Than is strictly necessary

Without ever having the need to exchange a word

Show good faith, an ID card

Or be asked to mind their P’s and Q’s

A service wash is extra which is all to the good

As somebody else will do the ironing.