"Laundry Lines," a lovely poem Coo & Co 

wrote not so long ago, brought to mind

another poem, one I read so very long ago

I hardly know who I was at the time.

I do remember, from the poem, images—

white sheets on cotton clothes lines

strung between inner-city exterior walls,

and a pulley, to reel the dry laundry in.

I thought Langston Hughes wrote it, now,

I don't think he, did. I stumbled on it

not so many years ago, surprised to learn

who the author was, I cannot bring it forth.

I brought down volumes from shelves

and searched the back page of each, 

where I keep notes of poems or lines I like,

but found no note, I have no clue.

It haunts me, these images of white sheets

fluttering on an inner-city breeze, of brick

and tenement windows, and voices

and all the sound that make a city hum.

Who wrote it, oh, I may never know,

a search of google for "laundry poems" 

brings all but one I seek, must I pull

down every book from the shelves

and read each one from stem to stern

and back again, I shan't live long enough.

So, if you know a poem of laundry lines,

of brick and noise and sheets of white, do tell!

~

Minutes after writing this I found the poem. I had, in fact, made a note. It was not remotely as I remembered.

I'll wait a bit before telling, to see what poems of lines and pulleys may have come to mind. 

Poetry is remarkable. Something I read fifty years ago stuck with me, an image.