Laundry Day

the white shirts pinned to the clothesline
are the headless ghosts of businessmen

socks are quarter notes in B flat minor
dangling from the bottom of the scale

pants are rabbit ears, stiff and upside down,
alert for the treble clef of the coyote’s claws

sheets, weary of flat worlds, flap in the breeze,
delighting, for a moment, in being big blank birds’ wings

pinned underwear makes a mixed family, each a mask
for a private part, a story not told, but hinted at

the monochromatic towels are featureless, cleansed,
waiting for another week of gossip to soak up

after the clothes are taken down, birds land on the line
to sun themselves and to sing news we will never know

Keith Polette has returned to writing poetry after being away from it, dwelling in the world of prose, for many years. He is grateful to have had his poems published recently in Sky Island Journal, Otoliths, One Sentence Poems, The Offbeat, the Peeking Cat Anthology, The Esthetic Apostle, Typishly, Sonic Boom, and Shot Glass Journal. His book of haiku, The New World, was published by Red Moon Press. He currently lives and writes in El Paso, Texas.

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