Do you dry your clothing
at the laundromat on St-André?
I like its windows yawning in the sun,
the philodendrons, and the smooth blue table,
wide as a bed, to shake out sheets on.
“I’ve only dried things there once,” you tell me,
“and they were little shrimp”
have a different drying time
than socks do.
But of course, I’ve only misread your text.
You really wrote “a little damp.” Of course
I know there are no shrimp
tumbling to peachy softness on St-André—
but just for a minute—