I remember the flapping of the clothes
on the line that summer morning
while Granny sat on the steps,
a polka-dotted clothespin bag by her feet.

********

My legs dangled from the tire
that hung on our old oak tree.
As I squinted at the azure sky,
I asked what I could do all day.


*********

"Only boring people get bored," Granny said.
So, I changed the Babe Ruth cards in my spokes,
and clickity-clicked my bicycle down to the beach.
By the time I got back, the clothes were gone.

******

But fresh-baked blueberry pie
sat cooling on the windowsill--
coaxing me to wash up for supper.