monday

Washing hanging on the line

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

Here in the UK, it’s not just an ordinary washing-day Monday, it’s a bank holiday. I don’t know if I’m allowed to call it May Day, or whether I have to use the more diffident Early May bank holiday.
Continue reading “monday”

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.