A Colour Wash

Day cold bright in blue, in luminous cloud
Washing scarcely dries on the rotary line
Though the wind breathes all over it
A day does what it does so a fire is struck
A half load of t-shirts dangle in the polytunnel
The grass grows overlong underneath
Indoors, the wet towels and trousers of today's wash
Hued inky, plum, pitch-black
Drape the amber wood of the old clotheshorse
Silver change gathers in a pot, for later, for the launderette.


Geo. said…
I love this poem. The closing line --of a recalcitrant clothesline-- surprises with laundromat change gathering like byproducts of incomplete evaporation. Wow.

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