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.