by Rae Miller
I loved the eagerness of the wash on the line in the summer morning,
The legs of my linen trousers reaching upwards in the breeze –
Prepared to run with me, as far as I asked them to.
For they knew the freedom that came
With the mildness of the weather,
With the length of the road,
And with the curiosity
Of the man who wears them.
And I knew that neither the stains on their knees,
Nor the poorly mended holes on the back –
Their stitches mismatched in both color and size –
Could persuade them into retirement
And when I unclipped them,
They would be ready to go –
Like a dog let off the leash.