A Wash

One from a parking lot entry
the other holding up the
door frame to a laundromat
a crumpled street and two decades
separate them and a lazy drizzle
that just won't subside.

One is a grey clad security guard
one is crowned with a white dome
one wears theirs much lower
one's toes can be seen
one of them is a woman
though I'm not sure which.

They observe the morning rain
they share their smiling laments
they turn their eyes up frequently
they shake their respective heads
they each stare at their feet
one gets back to work. 

Liberties

Given I've cursed myself

writing the title first,

I'll treat myself to a scribble,

poorly written, pointless lines

babbling, bubbling sloppily,

like those people I envy,

cranking it out without thought

or the slightest effort.