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 that by name.

Without the backyard breezes, though,

It wasn’t quite the same.