August

My son and his friends have been playing

a hybrid of kickball and baseball in the front yard again.

They've spent

the better part of the last 5 minutes

(and much of the summer)

arguing whether a neighborhood kid

was safe or out at second.  

No resolution seems forthcoming.  

Two fielders are near

to both rage and exhaustion.

My son is close to tears.  

One boy gets on his bike,

rides to the corner, then back.  

Screams of complaint continue.

He rides away again.  

A shaggy blond kid sits 

in a patch of dirt that serves as pitchers' mound.

He is normally a peacemaker.  

He holds his face in his hands.

School begins on Monday.

When they look back,

these will be 

the greatest days of their lives.

the view from a seat on the first base line.

In a mild summer the garden flowers flourish.

The daisies near our porch have

really brought their game this year.

The goddam daisies!

BANG !

Like a gunshot

our streetlight goes black,

then hums like a secret.

As he waited his turn this evening, I experienced the definition of patience.

Our white cat sits stone still

as two teenage rabbits play games

with which he is unfamiliar.

After which, I smile back, not having the heart to mention that I dabble in atheism.

She introduces herself

with the vacant, glazed-eyed assurance

of the terribly religious.

Nothing

There was a day this week

of glorious nothing.  It may

have been Thursday, but I 

cannot be sure.

I marked the watering of cucumbers 

as my chief accomplishment.

a bike ride - a glass of ice water

Later, as I sat in my backyard reading,

two city squirrels chased the afternoon.

a peanut butter sandwich - an idea on paper

A white cat and I sat in conversation

on the lawn for an hour or so.

the sun was there - a breeze from the north

In the evening we played 

soccer, kicking a ball together,

as the tree line measured time

until darkness.

A Discussion of Hunger in Sandbridge, Virginia.

Two crows in the sand

at the high water mark wait

for fish to come ashore.