You can hear the country music
when you step out of the Village Inn
and the Ace Hardware across the parking lot.
But you can’t tell where it is coming from
until you follow the sound to the back
of the laundromat where my husband’s band
is playing guitars and singing country songs
to the steady rhythm of washing machines banging
like drums as they swish blankets in soapy water.
A young mother taps her foot
and sings the chorus as she loads
her towels into the washer
as her preschool daughter whirls around
like the clothes in the dryers behind her,
her blonde braids and hands flying in the air.
A white haired couple stop folding clothes
long enough to do the jitterbug
while other customers listen, watch and clap
as they wait for their clothes to wash and dry.
This poem first appeared in Desert Directions (2015).
Used here with the author's permission.