Introducing a new series of poems by Julian Matthews. Julian is a writer and Pushcart-nominated poet published in The American Journal of Poetry, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Borderless Journal, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Dream Catcher Magazine, Live Encounters Magazine, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and The New Verse News, among others. He is a mixed-race minority from Malaysia and lived in Ipoh for seven years. Currently based in Petaling Jaya, he is a media trainer and consultant for senior management of multinationals on Effective Media Relations, Social Media and Crisis Communications. He was formerly a journalist with The Star and Nikkei Business Publications Inc
Link: https://linktr.ee/julianmatthews
By Julian Matthews
I have started to emit a sound,
not squeaky like a churchmouse, and less
screechy than a train stopping,
but more like the croon of a cruise ship
serenader.
I, sometimes, dream of taking off on a run,
leaving the drudgery of this wash-and-spin
cycles behind. Water in, water out,
water in, water out, ho-hum hum-drum;
agitating grunge and grime, sweat and stains,
all this soapy serial bingeing and front-loader
hot-tubbing with their dirty linen and spelunking
with their privates—privately, of course.
But I’m no gent, and only have shrunken laundry
balls to show for it after every rumble and tumble
like leaves at the bottom of an empty tea cup,
with no one to divine the meaning
from all this cleaning.
But I don’t spill tea about whose underwear
has been where. Besides, at the factory,
we were sworn to secrecy:
what goes in the wash,
stays in the wash; I’m too PC
to be gossipy.
Just glad I wasn’t in the assembly-line
next door that was making W.C.’s.
I’d rather clean clothes than be a flushing
commode that can only dream of being
in that scene on Trainspotting.
I’d rather be in Everything Everywhere All At Once,
the laundromat backdrop, with Short Round
and Michelle Yeoh in the multiverse,
kicking butt.
Do you pooh-pooh by ambition?
I wanna be a tenor troubadour, a digital diva
not an analog, detergent insurgent,
nor your lowly, sudsy servant.
If only Simon had Appliances Got Talent,
I’d get that Golden Buzzer. I’m a winner
not a whiner, a doer not a ruer.
Come closer, listen in, you can hear
the ghost in this machine sing.
First published in Mayari Literature Journal, Volume 2 Issue 2, San Francisco, USA.
