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Strip Mall Serenade
after Walt Whitman’s Song 15
The ATM’s out of money after the long weekend,
the skatepunk with the mohawk’s down to his last buck,
the cashier at the Krauzer’s, purveyor of porn, hot dogs and lottery tickets, always winks and wishes him luck (no matter what he buys),
the girl skipping Spanish class outside the liquor store in the heat of the sixth month
confuses Corona with corazon again,
the Japanese joint offers sushi special businessman’s lunch Monday thru Friday.
At the Laundromat, every day’s the same,
the washers spit suds at the dirty shirts, shaking them until they come clean,
the dryers thump and thump and thump, a heartbeat,
the laundry lady folds clothes listlessly,
the DJ on the radio (hardly heard over the song of soak and slosh)
urges her to call in and win,
the broken payphone receiver swings in time, off the hook in the stifling breeze,
the wet clothes tumble and the dry clothes tumble,
the laundry lady smiles when Culture Club’s “I’ll Tumble 4 Ya” comes on the radio;
the skatepunk tumbles off his board, lands at the feet of the girl outside the liquor store,
the Japanese joint swaps menus to the early bird special,
the cashier at the Krauzer’s bags her last Penthouse, calls in her order
five minutes too late,
and the neon sign in the Laundromat’s window commands OPEN, OPEN, OPEN,
and the thongs, the briefs, even the granny panties get rinsed and spun together,
and there’s no Bold or Gain in the vending machine; it’s All or nothing.
Return to Volume 2.2
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