By Jan Loudin
A red shirt bridges the prejudice
of dark jeans and white sheets
strung on a line between
back porch and crooked hickory pole.
Held fast by wooden pins, this
chorus line sways to the rhythm
of southwest breezes, only falling
out of step in sudden gusts.
Noon sun beats their world to
stillness, sucking moisture up,
up into heated air, becoming
cumulus clouds in far off Nebraska.
Released in late afternoon, fragrant
with mown grass and honeysuckle,
their dried stiffness neatly folded,
the red shirt maintains its vigilance
in the darkness of a tired wicker basket.
Copyright 2007 Jan Loudin