Counting quarters
at the laundry mat on Park Avenue
foam circling
spinning machines stare back
5 four-cycle Speed Queens
rinsing the stains
that hope leaves behind.
I look dirty in the snow
tree and tinsel screaming
Billy Graham smiling like a salesman,
Louder — God loves me!
Louder — God loves me!
The boy in slight tenor trills
seduced by angels
white and silver rays
warming the dark, the machines hum
add more softener.
