Sonny Rollins Does the Laundry


By Mark Jackley

Not the molten tone
pouring from the bridge,
song of steel being born.
This is yoga breath—
the dryer’s warm hum,
humdrum Zen,
crumpled heap of deaf,
dumb khaki pants.
Himalayan snow pile hair,
totem pole face,
tribe of one, he shakes,
folds and tosses socks
with all the creaky dignity
an aging god can muster.

Even a colossus
gotta have clean undies.


Mark Jackley is the author of several chapbooks and two full-length collections, most recently Hello Hello Hello (Blurb Press). His poems have appeared in Tampa Review, GingerSleet, CrateYour Impossible Voice and other journals. He lives in Sterling, VA.