Clothesline

“Something landed in our yard,” I announced.

Harold unlocked the backdoor, glanced around.

“Softball,” he hollered. “Next door thugs peering over our fence.Undies on their clothesline again.”

“I’m cooking. How about returning the ball?”

“Nope. They know where it is,” Harold grumbled holding a newspaper.

When the doorbell rang, he answered. Two boys asked permission toretrieve their ball.

“Nice kids. Better than the previous neighbors. Remember, they hungsheets on that silly clothesline to avoid talking with us.”

I looked out the kitchen window.

Our neighbor had taken down the underwear. Sheets strung the length ofthe clothesline.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.