Thursday, April 15, 2021



i’m going to write

a poem

about how my wife

does the washing



but i am too busy

hanging out the washing


as i peg

her knickers

to the frayed line

i think of robert frost


he said re free verse

to hang the washing out

without pegs you’d

have to tie shirt arms

to each other …


my brother colour codes

the pegs a line of red

and a line of green

and a line of blue

and a line of yellow

and a line of white


birds have pecked

this line for its

underlining for

their nests …

in autumn wispy curls

reflect my aged beard


my wife interrupts:

“what a lovely drying day!”

as she is wont to say


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