A Blessy Mess

I'm a mess and I am blessed.
The clothesline twisted as the wind began to whirl.
The pants, shirts, socks and panties did sommersalts around the line,
while the box of clothespins went skating across the lawn.
I chased after the pins, and the box skidded further along, scratching the ground and making that sound we all hate.
The clothes I hung were my favorite worn jeans, not the skinny sexy type, but old Ralph Lauren faded bootcut, a size too big with partial worn freys on the pant legs.
There hung too, a couple of favorite tee's and two new panties; and I rarely wear matching socks so two blacks not matching were there too.
The church meeting was good in part, but some of it wore on my nerves.
Stop pretending and get on with living.
Say what you mean and stop blinking;
He knows what's inside and is bored with that dummy up thinking
that gets us nowhere but in front of blank stares.
He likes my worn clothes, my twisted up laundry
and the box that won't come back until I'm ready to go get it;
the scattered pins and my worn out jeans.
The weeds in my yard show a lack of regard,
but my panties are new
and that's one over you.