page-268
TUESDAY IS WASHING DAY
The warped clothesline hung itself
heavy and morbid
a domesticated octopus
weighted and frigid in its daily chaos
sipping on teared dawn-drops
wimpering and creaking
fanned by a breezy light.
The trees bend towards its angle
and watch with graveside faces.
the hooting owl with open eyes
the milkman comes at four
the mail box still empty
the clothesline stands aloof
sunning itself on a sheeted
frosty lawn
And the clothes never dry
on a wet blue thread
with red plastic pegs
and dawn pearls dangling
And nothing ever changes
the wire on the line becomes rusty
And that damn clothesline possesses
blue-ringed eyes like a routine squid. | 
