One-seventeen.
Machine number six.
Your blue work shirt keeps hitting the glass.
You fold the towels in careful thirds.
I match the socks we used to lose.
Two plastic baskets on the floor,
one marked mine and one marked yours.
You ask who gets the yellow sheet.
I say, “You always liked it more.”
The dryer rolls our small mistakes
and brings them past the glass once more.
We said we’d leave when the buzzer spoke.
We said that made it clean.
But every time the red light blinks,
you look away from me.
Stay till the dryer stops.
Stay till the red light drops.
We can call it over in the morning,
but the morning ain’t here yet.
Stay till the dryer stops.
Let the old drum turn the clock.
If there’s nothing left between us,
why ain’t either one of us gone?
I find your button in the lint tray.
You find my scarf behind a chair.
You brush the powder from my black coat
like your hand still belongs there.
Outside, the bakery truck arrives.
Inside, you count the change.
You put one quarter on the table,
then take it back again.
We signed our names beneath the boxes.
We gave the landlord back his key.
But paper never had to sit here
with your knee beside my knee.
Stay till the dryer stops.
Stay till the red light drops.
We can call it over in the morning,
but the morning’s getting close.
Stay till the dryer stops.
Hear that loose zip strike the drum.
If there’s nothing left between us,
why do both our hands stay warm?
You whisper, “It’s been quiet
since a quarter after one.”
I say, “I saw the light go dark.
I just didn’t want it done.”
You lift the shirts out one by one.
I leave the baskets where they are.
Then I take the coin between your fingers
and hold it over the slot.
Stay till the dryer stops.
Stay while one more quarter drops.
We don’t have to name the morning.
We don’t have to promise yet.
Stay till the dryer stops.
Let the empty drum talk soft.
There is something left between us.
Let’s not leave it in the dark.
I press my thumb against the button.
You move your basket next to mine.
Stay till the dryer stops.