You stand before shutters
longer than necessary to realize
you can’t get in.
The door unavailable,
you will not enter the laundromat
today.

You are slow
in recognizing the facts
as you were slow in arriving,
dragging that bag
blocks and blocks
to this impenetrable location
where your wash will not be done.

You could have arrived earlier.
You could have brought a smaller package.
You could have been careful
to avoid being soiled
spoiled, stained.
You could have attained
a certain purity previously,
making this rush trip to the shop
unnecessary.
You didn’t.
You failed to do anything of the kind.
You became mired in your filth.
You became a creature of dirt,
flirting with chaos
with muck
with a playful grungy style.

And now look at you:
locked away from salvation
so close,
so lost,
when you so desperately wanted
to get clean.