Sunday Morning at the Laundromat

I found a palm frond in a book,

brittle and gray. I had to look

twice to remember the dusty smell

of the place where I was doing well.

Or pretending to. I drove past today

while the people went inside to pray.

I saw the sign with the peeling gold,

promising things that are getting old.

'Welcome Home,' the letters lied.

I stayed in the car and stayed outside.

I’m relieved to be here with the dryer’s spin

instead of the hollow, holy din.