Whitewashed, weathered, woefully unlevel,
it still sits today where it stood,
in the cold, in the rain, in the rear
of the old Rocky Point Laundromat
on the corner of Broadway and King St.

Oak, perhaps pine, it’s hard to say
beneath in all those layers of latex paint.
Hiding beneath all the seasons of decay.
After all this time you are still there,
sitting, waiting, hoping beyond all hope.

Pining, you rot in perpetuity.
Facing southward, face slowly peeling,
thin veneer barely hiding the years
of exposure, the years of neglect and abuse.

Rickety and wobbly you never faltered,
rooted in the firmament you are eternal.
A landmark, a respite, a portal to the past.
One time I climbed upon you,
I could barely reach your seat
without assistance from my grandmother,
as it was higher than most park benches.

I remember now the smell of the soap
and the suds and the easy feeling of clean.
The kind you feel after the rain,
the kind you feel after the pain has subsided
and you are left to lick your wounds,
and you are left to remember the beating,
and why it was deserved.

VINNIE CALONE aka v.j.calone. Formalist poet. Actor. Director. Friend. Lives in Rocky Point, NY.