On the fortieth anniversary of the launderette

Time to celebrate the karma
Of the simple launderama,
Where the underwear, though humble,
Still enjoys a quiet tumble.

Forty years! The feeling lingers
Of relief to calloused fingers:
Where one scrunched and scrubbed and mangled,
Here were havens newly-fangled.

In the humid, sudso crannies,
Youngsters bunched about their trannies,
Gazing deep, as if to study
Gravy stains, or shirts half-bloody.

Whirl on world! The decades glisten
Yet behind your portholes. Listen:
Launderettes have heart, have soul -
Socks and drugs and rock'n'roll.

From Send-Up