Sauna by John Dorroh

You entered the laundromat and persuaded

us that it was a sauna. And saunas have killed

so few, only the ones that poked fun at the stories

about things that can occur within its steamy confines.

Don’t enter unarmed, take your wits and stool

in case you feel the urge to sit. Not many do, but

they all know you here and wouldn’t think twice

if you posted temporary camp in the eucalyptus fog.

You can pay people to do your laundry

while you open your pores to the endless

possibilities, clear every last sinus cavity.

They make a good living and most everything

they touch is clean. You are clean, your husband’s

jockeys are clean, your bras, you son’s nasty soccer

shirt. Everything. You can slide across the car seat

without getting shocked, but if you do, consider

it a cheap thrill.

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John Dorroh misses traveling and asking people he meets all sorts of questions. His curiosity is insatiable. He has begun some light traveling, donned with a fashionable assortment of masks and sanitizer. Two of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net. Rumor has it that his first chapbook is coming out in 2022. @DorrohJohn