It’s raining here, hard enough

that everyone in the laundromat

is family. We don’t talk,

because we don’t need to talk.

We can go about our moments

more in sync than wait staff,

which is a family you

can drink with,

but still have to tell where you’re going.

I don’t remember

if you’ve worked in a restaurant,

because I don’t know a thing about you,

but if you haven’t, people in a restaurant

yell, “Behind!” so no one

knocks anyone’s hard work down.

The way I’m yelling “Hello!”

over the strong ohm of the gas-

powered dryers, and through whatever space

always lingers between two people

even when they live like rain

in a safe good puddle.


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