Carriage House Cleaners
“Ballad of the Takoma Threads
Where tie-dye flutters, banners sway,
On Carroll’s curve by vendor array,
Past hemp-clad poets, drums that spark,
The cleaners hum in Takoma Park.
No bleach to choke the daisied street,
No plastic tang, no chemical heat,
Here, soapnuts bloom, the earth reclaimed,
With citrus oils the shirts un-stained.
Patchouli drifts from woven shawls,
A busker bends his tune through calls,
But in that storefront, pressed and neat,
They conjure miracles discreet.
Your linen kissed by compost air,
Returns renewed without a care,
The wool coat, mud-streaked from protest rain,
Emerges whole, unmarked by strain.
They speak in whispers — vinegar, thyme,
Of stains released with touch and time,
A splash of tea, old market dust,
Fades gently in their leafy trust.
Among the co-ops, bulk bins tall,
Beside the muraled brick and sprawl,
The friendly market threads repair,
With nature’s hand and conscious care.
So raise your banners, stitched and green,
Your fabrics fresh, your conscience clean,
For even cotton, silk, and seams,
Deserve Takoma's gentle dreams.”
