“Serial Killer in the Laundromat”
As he walks in the open door
I’m acutely conscious of
how alone I am
how athletic he looks
–the man that holds
the plastic garbage bag
big enough to hide a body,
thick enough to snuff my life
when slipped over my head,
the soft layered plastic
becomes a black sucking “O”
as I struggle to breathe.
How easily he pins me,
holds me down until my fight is gone,
my light snuffed, then stuffed
inside a plastic shroud
he dumps me
so much garbage
in the bin
–or perhaps he takes
(what’s left of) me to a secluded
copse of trees,
my remains remain hidden,
whereabouts unknown.
If I’d chosen the folding table closer
to the door instead of the dryers,
my escape would not be cut off.
I keep my key handy by my side,
to thrust
into the eye of my attacker. From the edge
of my vision, I see him stop,
turn
in my direction,
and begin
pulling clothes from the dryer
into the enormous shapeless sack.
I continue folding,
pretend not to notice him
until he leaves when I
breathe again
until next time
my clothes need washing:
I flash again on every killer,
every monster, every unsolved mystery,
and every abduction discovered
as I once more enter the
deserted laundromat.
