Winter 07

Summers I worked at the laundry,
Money for college. This was in the 50s,
People still got polio then.
We washed the dingy garments of the shoe towns
(We still had them in New Hampshire then)
And the fine percale of the folk
Who lived by the lake down gated roads.
The girls who did the folding
(We called them girls then)
Would offer coarse jokes
About the bed sheets of the rich.
Caught, then as now,
Somewhere in the middle,
I passed wrenches to Neil, our boss,
As he straddled the ancient boiler:
Expert turnings of things we chose to think
Kept us from blowing up.
He nursed and finally lost a son to polio.
For forty years I went by his house
And we would recall the ones
Who ran the presses or fed the mangle.
The laundry is gone, of course,
Chiropractors and aroma therapists in its space;
Gone, too, is Neil, my gentle friend,
Who valued me in a fragile time,
On hot July afternoons,
Steamy with the innocent fragrance of
Starch, fresh linen, decent toil.

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	At the Laundry By Robert Demaree

	Summers I worked at the laundry, Money for college. This was in the 50s, People still got polio then. We washed the dingy garments of the shoe towns (We still had them in New Hampshire then) And the fine percale of the folk Who lived by the lake down gated roads. The girls who did the folding (We called them girls then) Would offer coarse jokes About the bed sheets of the rich. Caught, then as now, Somewhere in the middle, I passed wrenches to Neil, our boss, As he straddled the ancient boiler: Expert turnings of things we chose to think Kept us from blowing up. He nursed and finally lost a son to polio. For forty years I went by his house And we would recall the ones Who ran the presses or fed the mangle. The laundry is gone, of course, Chiropractors and aroma therapists in its space; Gone, too, is Neil, my gentle friend, Who valued me in a fragile time, On hot July afternoons, Steamy with the innocent fragrance of Starch, fresh linen, decent toil. >>>More

	Robert Demaree is a retired school administrator with ties to North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and New Hampshire. The author of a history of Greensboro Day School and a collection of poems called New Hampshire Pond, he has had over 200 poems published or accepted by 70 periodicals, including Aethlon, Cold Mountain Review, Louisville Review, Mobius, Offerings, and Paris/Atlantic.