The Laundromat Fugue State

She reads to the chorus of mumbling tumble dryers,
The coins slotting, rattling, dropping,
A coffee vending machine dribbling hot brew
Into new polystyrene cups, topped with milk and cocoa.
She’s unaware that her laundry finished long ago
But I can wait. She’s happily glued,
Lost in the laundromat fugue state.

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