"When The Wind Blows"

Hard as wood
Rock hard…
Bench in the laundrette.
Minding my own business
As the washing
Goes round and round
In a circle.
Story of my life.
And off he goes.
Bedding out of the drier.
Folding his warm sheets
Ever so neat
Before going
Out of the door.
Don’t mind me.
I can take the noise
And the cold biting wind
Blowing in from the street.
He was so polite
To the bored girl
Behind the jump
With the lack of a smile
And the permanent hump.
No “Goodbye, thank you”
Even “Have a nice day.”
There may have been a response
A faint grunt maybe.
And not in the farting sense
As she wasn’t even capable
Of that sort of hot air.
Which is why
I couldn’t say
To the first bloke
“Oi! Were you born
In a fucking barn!”
Deep breath, stay calm
I can always get up
And close the door myself.
But I won’t.
Not because I don’t
Particularly want to.
It’s more of an inconvenience
Than a hardship
As I zip up my jacket
Outweighed by the pleasure
Of forcing the miserable one
From the back of the laundrette
To get off her arse
To block out the cold
In the vain hope
It might warm
Her heart up a little.
 
Dulwich Poet 15^th January 2014

(The boredom of sitting in my local laundrette!)