by Joanna M. Weston

She’s being taken to court for hanging her laundry on the washing line. She’s trying to save the planet while her neighbour’s thoughts are, apparently, prurient. He says pillowcases and towels flapping in an easterly wind are "disgusting," too lascivious to be seen. When she hangs jeans and tees he, behind closed drapes, looks for her underwear. Sheets and diapers she feels are innocent beyond belief. He sees conception flaunted in the public view.


Joanna M. Weston has been publishing poetry, reviews, and short stories in anthologies and journals for twenty years.