Washing Line of Fancies

For my friend who does not understand my ramblings, try understanding this!

Today I hung

A bag full of my

Long left laundry

Of likes…

As they hung on the washing line,

For closer examination

With my gigantic magnifying glass

That facilitated the circumference

Of my beady eyes,
I noticed

A sequence had been created,

A fusion of fancies,

Organised by time and relevance

To the grander scheme of things.

My pupils inspected the once

Delightful damsels,

And I could not help wondering these wonderings…

For instance,

My teenage laundry was plentiful,

A combination of socks and gloves

That had made the prospect of institutional

Education amusing –

Ergo

A history A-Level lesson,

Laundry equivalent: a sock

(For confidentiality reasons we will refer to him as B)

Having watched A Walk to Remember,

The sentiments for a character was projected onto B.
Mr tardy was instructed to join my group,

And as he sat on the one vacant seat, beside me…

I began to quiver,

Subtlety was clearly yet to be mastered.

B feigned being interested in the argument

We were assigned to debate,

And the following week dropped the subject.

Completely unrelated to my spag-like reaction,

At least here’s hoping.

Forward >>

Seems I dabbled backwards,

Relapsing into falling into fancy with an imaginary…

I began indulging in the literary delight of a

Mr Potter’s uncle,

A exceedingly bad ass Sirius Black,

But then even he croaked.

Forward >>

Bad-ass became a prerequisite,

And thereafter an undetectable theme to

My laundry,

As I fell into obsessive fancy with a

Unattainable café owner’s son,

But the twist here...

I managed to somehow achieve

A proposition from the café owner instead,

And that's enough 
Divulgence about that.

Fast forward >>

As we left hurriedly for our flight,

We managed to suffer from food poisoning,

And very classily exited the aeroplane

On a throne – a stretcher ;)

Which led me to my next fancy.


It was round about this time 
I began to notice a different trend,
Though younger retarded days of
Losing body movements was
Now most curiously replaced...
Instead,
My heart began to beat to its own melody,
Pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-purrumb


Pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-purrumb 

As a male nurse entered,

In brown scrubs.

His beautiful hands made hidden veins

Appear not so hidden,

And there it was a new fancy,

Which became mutual

But of no real consequence,

Communication/ tribal problems.

So in my twenties,

There was a new pattern emerging

Clearly evident in my laundry,

As they now had become

More substantial in material…

A t-shirt,

A trouser,

A shirt,

A taubh,

Though there were fewer,

They were no longer

One-sided sentiments.

As I stood staring at each one,

I realised the ridiculousness

In these long paused lamentations.

And so deciding to embrace

My self-destructive nature...

I took advantage of the blazing hot sun,

And directed the magnifying glass

At the washing line of fancies…

As night drew in to snuggle up to the stars,
Once fancied ashes were all that remained
Upon the green snoozing grass,

And when a conveniently directed gust of wind appeared,

These too were gone.

No eulogy was required on this occasion,
For this execution 
Of frivolous fancies, 
Forced favourable
Maturity of oneself.

A bare washing line of no fancies hung,

And since night time had approached,
Concealing all those that hid in it,

She sneaked out of bed, 
And hung a cream ribbed hat.