My laundromat has a broken drier.
At least the lint has not caught fire.
The drier salesman is a liar.
I'm wasting my change when times are dire.
A repairman my landlord will have to hire.
When my laundry is cleaned of mire.
The machine should die inside a pyre
[Then] a chorus of joy would be sung by a choir.
This happens so often it ought to be retired
Or, if not, [it] should be rewired
Our laundromat's drier is broken
It won't accept quarters or tokens
My clean laundry is all asoaken
At night my neighbors aren't awoken
My Goddamned drier won't dry.
To it we should say goodbye
In agony I could cry
The machine ought to be replaced or to die
Shakespeare would say of it "Fie".
I am one ticked off guy.
I put the machine thrice on high
Another drier's not nigh.
For clothing of even one ply.
All I can do is just sigh
or yell and swear to the sky.
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