Fluff & Dry

It's the damn dryer, she says.
It ate her last 3 quarters and her laundry's
still wet. She's kicking the machine
with her boots and sobbing wildly,
then collapses in a plastic orange chair.

You're folding t-shirts. There's nobody 
else in the place. 

"You alright?" you ask.

She starts in again about the dryer
and then it comes out: her boyfriend
stole her money for drugs.

"Some boyfriend."

Well yeh but she REALLY loves him 
and she was gonna do the drugs too
but he did them all.
Wasn't that selfish?

"S'pose so."

It all comes out: the drugs, the drinking,
the two years as a stripper in Denver,
the ex boyfriends, reform school, juvee,
a stepfather who'd raped her. So she ran
away from home.

"Maybe things will get better," you say.

Yeh, she says, maybe. Then she goes off
on the dryer again, screaming and kicking
and sobbing.

You bag up the last of your wash, 
and put 4 quarters
in her hand.

"Hey, thanks!" she says. "Really!" 

From across the street you can still see her.
She puts the quarters in her pocket,
slumps back in her chair
and waits for the next
mark.