the afterwash

Washing hanging on the line
After travel comes washing. As I hung out the second load this morning, I remembered this short poem from a few years ago.

Monday

Wind paunches the belly
of a wifebeater while
blue-black denims drip.
The kitchen drain belches suds
and she ponders ironing
white collars.

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s