She did her laundry alone
talking to pillars, nodding at breezes,
she warned the customers about
how often police came by to ticket
white Nissan Sentras because
those cars were radioactive,
glowing, pulsing,
and as she described this to us
we backed away,
frightened,
we didn’t understand how
she could do her laundry,
pour out the detergent,
put in her quarters,
and wait so patiently
for the end of the world
to come
as she smiled, held out her hand
which we ignored. It was too clean.
Centuries ago she would have been hung,
a witch accused of making a cow’s
milk go sour, or casting spells
on pregnant women,
now we leave her alone to do her laundry
and take dictation from voices in the dryers.
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