Mostly they miss,
Those boys endlessly
Trying, trying, trying
To make the ball
Swoosh lightly through the
Battered, wobbly, rusty hoop.

They dream, too,
And, more willing than I,
Keep aiming
Keep missing
Till sundown.

Reading the Lines
I can’t believe you pay to dry them. The sun is free.

Pampers won out so
Diapers no longer announce new births.
But the lines still tell stories.
Flannel pajamas reveal a marriage chill.
Khakis replace work overalls.
Lacy bras give way to sturdier suppor.
Men’s clothes suddenly disappear.
Here we still value thrift over privacy.

Collection Day

I miss them
Those muscled men who
Hoisted the cans up and over the truck edge.
Their arms first grew slack
Merely tipping into the compressor bed.
Then, finally, biceps smoothed altogether
Replaced by mechanical limbs
Reaching disgracefully over and up.