The Clothesline - by Mark Ryan
I could hear the rooster crow at the crack of dawn.
My dreams would have to wait till the daylight was gone.
Up with the sun to start my chores.
Washing the clothes and waxing the floors.
The ringer washing machine was full to the brim.
You couldn’t put any more clothes in.
After the washing cycle the clothes spun dry.
And the spinning stopped at the blink of an eye.
You could see the water empty into the sink.
Now squeeze the last drop through the ringer quick as a wink.
Out the back window the clothesline was strung.
To the back yard tree the clothes would be hung.
With clothes pins a plenty the linens were draped on the line.
To dry in the sun on the rope to the tree would be just fine.
Each season gave the clothes a unique smell.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter you could always tell.
But Winter was the most adored.
Pulling in the dried clothes stiff as a board.
All of a sudden the pulley let go.
And the clothesline hung loose as the wind did blow.
I called my young boy to climb the distant tree.
And rehang the rope that now hung free.
Like a monkey my young man hopped from limb to limb.
Retying the loose rope to the pulley nice and trim.
The line was now ready to support the full load.
Thanks to my boy who hoped off the tree like a jumping toad.