Originally Posted by: Jolly McJollysonHere's what I came up with

Spinning, ever spinning, the machines churn on and on
And never to explain nor to reveal
Reasons without reason and the chill of being born
Of metal, electricity, and steel

Sitting, always sitting, as the street turns round a corner
Then round another corner and again
Watching without seeing and I close my eyes to you
So Blinding, and so binding me, my friend

Crying, ever howling, the machines make such a fuss
Unbridled their emotions, though they be.
I Find myself remembering the tepid, tacit touch
The final, fair farewell you've given me.

Seething, always burning, but it cannot be revealed
It must not, no, it will not and it shan't.
This flame that bades me hide myself and let the truth be sealed,
It burns an effigy I know I can't.

Spinning, stopping spinning, as I gather up my clothes
And sullenly so leave the laundromat.
Low hung my head so sure am I that everybody knows
My strong and deep desire that you'd sat where I had sat.

Ugh, I hate writing structured poetry... anyhow, that's the best I can do off the cuff on this topic.

Yesssssss... laundromat poetry! It's a whole new genre!!!!