Clothesline

The house where I grew up Came with a clothesline in the back, A dryer being something that Most homes those days did lack. I learned to hang the towels, Overlapping just a bit, Since by doing so, more laundry On the line would get to fit. I visualize my mom, With wooden clothespins firmly gripped In her mouth, despite the fact With clothespin bag she was equipped. When Covid struck, I hung a rope Across my bathtub’s length, Afraid to hit the laundry room And test its viral strength. It was a clothesline, technically; I called it by that name. Without the backyard breezes, though, It wasn’t quite the same.