hyphens

The summer has been careless, the sun
appearing every few days, as though hungover
and half-hearted in its shining. Peaches
are sour and water-logged from the rain,
which falls reluctantly as though called upon
too often. Seems only the weeds are happy —
clover and dandy and crab —
they shiver with the joy of wet dirt and mellow
photosynthesis. Children, blue-lipped and determined,
jump in the sprinkler turning with resignation.
I pinch ants as they venture onto my beach towel.
I bury my face in the too-tall grass.
I look at the gutters on my 90-year-old house
and wonder how tall the poke berries that grow there
will reach before I gather the courage to climb
a short ladder to dispatch them.

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2 thoughts on “hyphens

  1. So pretty a little snapshot of the gritty minutia that makes a moment real and memorable. I want to do this ALL THE TIME. Where are my poems, Mad?

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