Mute Spies

Mute spies.
In plain sight.

Laundry strung from house to house, half human shapes projected on poles out into the street. Sweaters and dresses flapping down, skins stretched out to dry. Dante’s Inferno. The twisted souls of sheets.

A revealing, a revelation,

of what the city

on the whole

keeps out of sight.


Conceals

but ultimately

reveals.

An exposure.


Mute spies.

In plain sight.


That hidden “underwear”

brashly on display

from balcony

and clothesline.



Ten white aprons on a line

blowing in the breeze.

Neck loops etched against the grass.

Restaurant?



Black shirts,

jeans, light or dark,

upside down on a railing.

Railroad worker?



Homespun long johns

keeping company

with a flannel nightgown.

A couple no longer young?



T-shirts,

orange, shocking pink, black, purple.

someone young,

at least in heart.



And of course, sheets.

Hung on balconies

on lines across a street

or perhaps from tree to tree.



Undifferentiated, sheets are sheets.

Nor can one gainsay

that irregardless of color

towels too are always towels.


And irregardless of color, they

are distinguished by one commonality.

The shadows that they cast

are invariably black.

6 thoughts on “Mute Spies

  1. Cara , as they say in German, KLEIDER MACHEN LEUTE. A thought provoking trip down memory lane.
    Am wondering the kind of person INHABITING the displayed garments. Ephemeral (ghostly)
    aspects of the real person ? Also conjures up images of Orvietani folk as viewable in old photos in sepia, showing LOCALS and their
    “ diminished economic condition” Some things don’t change very much while at the same time, others change a great deal.
    Come sempre, Abbracci forte. Csaba.

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