Laundromats

It’s not just the drab piles
or the queues for the dryer
or the woman with ratty eyes
who keeps pretending
that the fifteen bags of washing
really all belong to her,
or the aloof brunette
who watches her man’s socks
like a daytime serial.

It’s the architecture
that puts you in a floodlit cell
of mutual interrogation
for people who can no longer hide
their dirty washing.