Meditations at the Coin Wash

Mesmerized by a sea of tumbling colour, 
my face reflected in the glass. 

Three minutes for a quarter to sit here still,
like a piece of driftwood, 

spit upon the shore—while gulls hover
and nature has her way.

Smoothing my rough edges, eroding my façade.
The dryers steadily rumble, 

like the tide coming in. Throw in another quarter
watch my troubles spinning round.

© Marsha Masseau