I'm in a new place ....

.... and it's got a washing line, well, a rotating one,
and I can't remember having one before, not of my own.
In fact I have no memory of having hung out washing before,
only on an indoor pulley.
So, at 68, it's a new skill to learn, pegs and that,
especially when I can show off to the Rabbit,
who I have to pretend I don't see.
It feels like being 14 again, showing off,
pretending I don't see Jean Grant at the school dance.

Also it's great to see my socks together
and see there are not so many olive green ones as I thought.
I've been worried for a while
that I was only losing the other colours
and would, one morning, have to wear matching olive socks
because I didn't have anything else.

I've not worn matching socks since that security guard,
searching me at Colorado Airport,
complimented me on my odd socks.
She had a wonderful bluesy voice
that has rolled around in my chest ever since.
I know, wearing cowboy boots, no one ever sees my socks
like she did, but I know they are there, waiting to be discovered:
Say I got knocked down by a bus or something,
maybe a nurse in hospital, or in a mortuary,
when they took off my boots I hope it would be a nice surprise.
They have a difficult job these folk;
you feel you should do something for them.
So odd socks might be quite cheery,
not something that would traumatize or haunt them
or keep them awake at nights.