Fingers pick the clothes edges
arms raise with that sense of rhythm and repetition
The free hand opens the peg
it closes over the material and clings
Shoulders go from shrug to extension
she gets lost out there in the wind
The cardigan flies as the breeze lifts it
The line is full
Another week of clothing hangs
moistureless day collaborate
rustle and blow the material
Until it is ready to put away
To wear over ourselves
for our agreed pretend
Shoulders go from reach to extension
you have no clue
There's this long line
her smalls and my bigs
in a wind that parches
that knows somehow
The secret that I keep
the peg box is empty
The imagination full
Bending and picking up the next wet shirt
Another space full
Another illusion bought and paid for
Another yearning fool
Dreaming of worlds so far off
Failing in the practical house hold jobs
Tightening the line
What's left over
rides away on the clothes horse
There her shoulders are
Making their way out of her dress
Lifting and falling like the days
Smiling at me when she has her back turned
The free hands hold an edge
There's no peg to hold it
Nothing to secure a fixed life
You just thought it would be set in stone
But the wind blows those stupid rags right off
They get scattered into the neighbors yard
Right out onto the road
stupid little plans, broken little hearts
