Have you ever seen some clothing on a line?

Sunny flapping, bleaching white

Bits of fabric, strings, straps hanging fine,

They put up with the wind, they wave, they fight. 

Look! There’s old Uncle Bob’s underwear

Next to some rags and some socks, striped white and red,

Scrunched next to a shirt who is happy to share

Next to, stretching long, a sheet for a bed.

The blue jeans which once cuddled mud hang now clean,

The old pillowcases are dirty no more,

The washcloths deemed useless are ripped into shreds,

And new ones swing fresh from the store. 

But some of them can’t join the wild celebration

The clothes which can’t stand life’s hard demands.

And these put away in a different location

Cannot longer serve, and so they are banned.

Their voices, unknown to hard human ears,

Roar loud and mourning into the air,

So the clothes on the line which live all these years,

Remember and flap as soft as they dare.