Old Black Men

Old Black Men


Old black men gather at the Laundromat

on Sunday afternoon,

a van brings some of them

others arrive alone

Stragglers from another time.

They carry their laundry in pillowcases

and old burlap sacks,

they count their quarters

set the machines in motion

roll their cigarettes

smoke with heads bent down

hands dangle between their knees.

On the rare occasion they speak

they are polite and quiet

their voices soft and sweet

like a melody from an old time hymn.

When I say good-afternoon

they smile shyly and nod.

Laundry done they neatly fold

faded shirts and pants

place each item back

in the pillowcases and burlap sacks.

When they leave I am a little sadder

wondering what these quiet men of dignity

do the rest of the week before

old black men gather at the Laundromat

on Sunday afternoon.


  • colin

    Beautifull memmories Baj-athe times when men were men

  • diamonddagger

    awwwww this is so real that I could see and hear and feel the reverence of the scene. So sweet and innocent. Beautifully written!!!!

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.