Voices echo in a huge ugly room that needs repainted.
Can't use the only restroom, smelled it once and nearly fainted.
Mothers bring their kids so they have a place to scream and cry,
but I can't care what they do.
Everything will soon be dry in the quarter fed clothes dryer.
A longer hour can't be found watchin a round window where my socks spin round and round.
I'm hypnotized by the constant sound.
The change machine I hope this week is full.
I come every Sunday to make a bright day dull.
A redundant cycle of depression, void and null.
Always there's different people creating the same old smell.
Never got to church, so I guess I went to hell.
Watchin a round window as my socks spin round and round.
Tryin to push a smile through a very stubborn frown.
I'm just another soap sud zombie alone in this town.
And the clothes I'm wearing smell like this place.
As usual, I must guard my folding table space.
Here I go again, and already next week is due to begin.
Same time next Sunday, same smell, same sound.
And I'll watch a round window as my socks will spin round and round.
This is where the soap sud zombie can be found.
I've come to realize that some men need a good wife to share their life with.
Including these Sundays, a lonely part if life.
Two soap sud zombies, maybe, could even smile through this strife.
YOU ARE READING
In Review
Non-FictionWhat is "Life In Review"? Saga, song, sonnet, story, satire, summary, sorry situations, silly sort of stupid stuff, sense and non, poems, prose, anecdotes and dozy doats, and a possible personal blow or two. This book is a collection of writings, op...
