Poem of the Week: 10.20.22

"Dirty Laundry" by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira

“Dirty Laundry”

by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira

Like merchandise, men do not live long
Lasting every day below summer sun

Enduring without purpose, simple if swallowed
But strong men do not use softeners.

As established by World Tour of US flex,
Broken protection in Cambodia, in Honduras,

Made bleached paradises. Old men only care for oil
And bananas: offense for all in US republic

Free men follow directions:
Ask a doctor for daily purpose,

Remove hedonism with pride,
Hush freedom as needed.

Made for use in Vietnam, men spin cold and heavy,
Tumble, while warnings warm our pressed planet

Colors bleed as men wash away
Skin cleaned by iron and machine

Assembled without gentle cycles, men leather
Inside out, authentic only when rough,

Genuine only when fit in imported sweatshirts
Needed care, broken again. And, again

Like all man made, men do not live long

This poem first appeared in Postscript Magazine, Fall 2022.

Read by the poet:

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Continuing my series of published poems, here is a new one! “Dirty Laundry” premiered this week in Postscript Magazine’s latest edition, Issue 43: Alpha. You can check out the magazine on their website, where my poem was paired with stunningly thematic and beautiful artwork by Sandra Paris (a French artist with a dope Instagram). Postscript is beautifully crafted and I’m filled with joy knowing my poem is in its archive.

Since the world isn’t oppressive enough as it is, poets often like to constrain, or apply rules to, writing and see what comes out. “Dirty Laundry” was written with a constraint: it is a found poem made from words and phrases “found” on clothes labels and tags. I have ethical qualms about cyclical consumerism birthed from imperial colonialism, but I also love cool t-shirts. Wondering what my clothes might have to say about their role in capitalism, I went with the “found poetry” constraint and choose to limit my writing to only words I could find printed on a piece of clothing.

Sounds kind of fun and whimsical, right? It was. But once I had gathered the words that struck me, I found patterns: country names, washing directions (“tumble”) and warning (“bleed”), identity markers (“men”), and a surprising amount of articles and prepositions. The result of the constraint was a poem that is political and fleeting, as much about masculinity as it is about the lives torn apart in the process of making man.

Now you know where the words come from, but where are they going? Notice the final stanza, one line unliked the other two-lined couplets that precede it: though it is a return to the beginning it is also breaking with the tradition before it. Direction or warning? Response or responsibility? Found or finding? Whatever the answers are, somehow these internationally printed words made their way from the clothes in my dresser in Los Angeles to the eyes of editors of an online magazine based in the UAE. I think that’s neat.

Don’t forget your laundry, Ricky