The wind picks up, snapping the shirts
in tight and tidy rows on the clotheslines
and threatening to pull socks loose
for a short, loping dance in the breeze.
Below, the brightly colored plastic
pieces of clothespins long broken
litter the dirt and sparse grass blades,
forgotten, unneeded, able to work
in the gales that tug at wet towels
but cannot lift plastic nibs in the air.