POST-MODERN BLUES
© Greg Keeler 1988

Lament of the Laundromat

'Twas out in Butte, Montana.
'Twas at a laundromat,
I first set eyes on a lady fair
By the dryer where she sat.
Ah, her eyes were like Jane Pauley's,
Her hair like Connie Chung's.
She had the lips of Judy Woodruff,
And Diane Sawyer's lungs.
But she paid me no attention
When I boldly made my move,
And I told her just how glad I was
That her Tide was New Improved.
And she feigned to still ignore me.
I can't tell you of the hurt
When I expressed my wild astonishment
At our matching bowling shirts.
So bemad to desperation
With my eyes both wild and red,
I seized her fresh dried underpants,
And I drew them o'er my head.
So my hair stuck out the leg holes,
And the waist band creased my brow,
And I thought for sure this lady fair
Would pay attention to me now.
But she whisked the pants from off my head
And stuffed them in her laundry bag,
And she quickly trotted out the door,
Ignoring my little gag.
And you may have my bowling trophies,
And you may take my bowling ball.
You may even have my bowling shirt.
I'll be needing them none at all.
For my days will be cold and empty
All my years till I am dead.
For the one who failed to be impressed
With her panties on my head.