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Sunday, March 6, 2016

A Day at the Laundromat



Oh hi me hence to the laundromat
bearing many a malodorous sock
As oftimes a shepherd would boldly go
To the babbling brook where clear waters flow
With a line of woolly beasts in tow
(or sometimes formed up in a row)
Which comprised his caprinaerious flock


A football jersey, meant for sports
relegated now to work
A dozen holed and yellowed shorts
which in the corner lurk
Some threadbare jeans and and faded tees
A brace of sweatpants lacking knees
And a woolen sweater, rife with fleas
I finds I must transports

As manly heart anticipates the finding of a laundromat queen
Perhaps a Vida Guerra clone
Or Jennifer Lawrence all alone
Or Charlotte McKinney, sans cell phone*
But it doesn't seem to be my day, none such are here, I ween.

When it comes to laundromatic love it seems I am shit out of luck,
For the only lass who toils within
Sports globular frame and trebular chin
And more body hair than Rin Tin Tin
Much like Rosanne bar with a silly grin, had her face impacted a truck.


*So she can't call for help.

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