Drying Day

drying-day

There goes the washing and it’s not even nine!
Now there’s only my boxers left pegged to the line.
The rest have blown off and flown over the gate.
There’s a shirt on the chimney at seventy-eight,
A sock on the roof of the neighbour’s new shed,
A bra wrapped around number seventy’s head,
A pillowcase doing a dance in the street,
And my Desperate Dan undies flung into next week.

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