The dryer thumps a heavy rhythmic beat

The dryer thumps a heavy, rhythmic beat.

I’m standing in the kitchen in my socks.

I hope the couple through the wall is sweet

enough to ignore the turning of the locks.

I pull the cotton out and see the change.

It used to be as bright as winter light.

Now it’s yellow-ringed and looking strange,

a ghost of something that was actually white.

I hold the collar up against the glow.

The sweat has stained the fabric through and through.

It’s 2 AM and I have nowhere else to go.

I’m sorry that I’m needing you.