a Clothesline
I see her now,
clouds threatening,
reaching up to unhook it
from a nail in the house wall—
sheets, shirts, vests
already tossed into a wicker basket—
then, head bent marching
down the garden
to the far post,
left arm raised, hand cupped
whip-winding it in,
sharp as a cowboy with a lasso.
See her flicking the coil off her wrist,
and securing it with the last foot of rope,
smiling, as she dives back into the house,
clothesline prepped
for next Monday.
Hear the, Agh! My basket,
as she dashes out to retrieve…
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