Sixty washers and sixty dryers,
All going ’round in circles,
Never ending …
Until a buzzer rings,
Until the fat lady sings.
Here’s a family with two kids,
Here’s a senior, down on the skids —
Changing his clothes just after drying.
Here’s a young man just returned,
His clothes have disappeared, he learns,
Surprised and shocked, he looks around.
I’d wondered ’bout that lady who
Said, “Don’t know
Who these clothes belong to –
Are they mine?”
Well, eventually it was straightened out.
Indeed, she’d taken what was his
And into the dryer, along it went
Tumbling ’round and ’round, along with hers.
Next week, I visited once more.
The young man came inside the door.
I asked him if he’d got his clothes.
Of one pair socks, he was depleted,
He shrugged, not seeming too defeated —
Serenely accepting an item deleted.
One early morning this summer, I was driving past a freeway on-ramp, and I noticed a camping tent amongst the trees. If I hadn’t known that I was on a freeway, the area looked very much like a campground, with lovely pine trees, but of course without picnic benches, running water, showers, or toilets. But the place did look a lot like a typical California campground.
A few days later, there were two tents. Word was getting around.
But after a few weeks, no more tents. It would be interesting to know the stories of the people involved.
[Headline – Four homeless persons found dead from
hypothermia in recent freezing weather]
On cold and dreary winter night,
He pulled the blanket tighter still,
And tried to push the winter chill
Away from heart and soul – such fright.
Under the bridge
He found his place,
Away from prying passerby,
Away from passing, moaning wind.
He did not find the warmth he sought
And shivered uncontrollably.
That was the night
He fought and lost
His battle with cold destiny.