Tenth of Mnemosyne

before my washing machine was
this Euterpe of my allpurpose
lyrics, supposed drycleaner
for my soul, from whose handwash sure rises
a mountain of suds cleansing me of my angst,
cleansing me of sins albeit
for a moment fleeting,
albeit for nothing.

so often they are muses
these little secrets
of laundrymen.

what my washing machine reveals
now are secrets of whirling waters:
coffeestained overalls that stood
the rigors of minimumwage weeks, and yes,
underwears unsoiled by the touch of any of
Mnemosyne's daughters -- muses
and little secrets of
unclothed men.

waltzing with my washing machine
i dip my socks in whirling waters
and learn the fractals behind the swirls
of dirts in the absence of an allpurpose
muse of detergents.
then down the drain
i let flow these little secrets
of Mnemosyne's tenth.