FACE-TO-WHATEVER WITH YOUR NEIGHBOUR’S PANTS

FACE-TO-WHATEVER WITH YOUR NEIGHBOUR’S PANTS

Having communal gardens

There’s always a slight chance

Of finding yourself face-to-crotch

With your neighbour’s pants

It won’t happen very often

In fact hardly ever at all

But when we do our washing

We don’t hang out our smalls

They’ll be put onto a maiden

In the bathroom out of sight

Nobody needs my pants exposed

To the harsh glare of daylight

They borrowed a length of wash-line

One sunny Sunday afternoon

Whilst our own machine was running

Finishing its cycle far too soon

I headed outside laden

Under pant-filled wires I duck

When I had to limbo under it

I just didn’t know where to look

Hanging my sodden shirts out

Wires bending with the strain

Turning to dip in my peg bag

I‘m face-to crotch with pants again

I head back indoors shaken

My empty bag flaps in the breeze

Explaining my discomfort

Putting myself back at my ease

I look outside - they’ve vanished…!

It’s all now flapping clean bedclothes

We’ve avoided all that social angst

That keeps good neighbours on their toes

Though soon, when it starts raining

It almost comes as a relief

I dash up to bring the washing in ---

On the path she dropped her briefs…!

Martin A W Holmes, September 2016