Becoming The Muse

The wind is coming and clothes without pegs get blown off the washing line.

All clothes must fall.
Rendering laundry an endless chore of wash and repeat cycles as the clothes blown off like to gather dust as if never washed.

My pegs have been disappearing. They vanish as if spirited away by unseen hands, leaving my laundry defenseless against the wind.

My washinglinemate’s clothes pegs have been increasing by a number that’s suspiciously coincidental to the number my pegs are decreasing by.

Marking the last of my pegs with scarlet gel nail polish, courtesy of a former lover… I want to be able to identify the shields that guard the washingline laundry from the wind.