I used to be the hippie-dippy laundry guy.
Folks would bring in a smelly bag or two
of clothes or tablecloths and towels, or
maybe a business suit or a little black dress
that needed to be dry-cleaned and pressed
and I’d turn around, hand them off to the
back-room laundry slaves, ask them nicely
to do whatever they could to rush it up,
help me meet my hippie-dippy promises.
And later, when their offices finally closed,
and the customers came in for pick-up
I’d hand over their neatly pressed hangers
and their freshly folded bags, ready to use,
and they’d fork over the cash or credit
and I’d smile my best hippie-dippy smile
and they’d smile, reach in their pocket
and slip me a tip of a couple of joints.
I always split the spliffs with the soapers;
I mean, what else could I do? I had a rep…
I’m older now. I don’t work there anymore
but I’m still the hippie-dippy laundry guy…
~ Spin-Cycle Poetry ~