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Wash Day by Frank Friel


The white sheets snap in the wind like flags marking our place in time.
A  little boy I stand among the sheets and watch them dance on a fresh wash day morning.
Sitting in the April grass I laugh as they flutter around my face — not a stranger to their party.
Not yet anyway.

by Frank Friel

Frank Friel, cut man, writer and featured guest on the Yandy Project Podcast.

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