Flapping in the breeze,
Hanging on a tender line,
I've been put out to dry
And then some.
With soap behind my ears
And a fresh face
I appear from the bin
Spinning this way
And that.
I desperately seek
An anchor
To grasp,
Locking me down
To the soft sweet ground.
But my vision is blurred
By the swells of pain
And anger
Flashing in my heart.
Where to go,
Who to find,
What to look for
On a
Roll of quarters.
Might as well fold myself
And hide in a basket.
Headed upstairs
To the drawers
Of Home.

rjw, 5/14/88

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