Watching without waiting
for the clouds due to arrive
from the southeast
that will carry two and three quarter inches
of clean fresh air to this formerly parched earth.
Composed, content, aware,
sitting before the mouse hole of life,
not blinking yet seeing,
the whole composition
of the tapestry and its story.
Head down, the yellow helmet zooms down the path,
one foot pushing, the other riding
as mothers talk beneath the tree
beside the lake where ducks float without thought
of what tomorrow may bring.
Freshly painted,
bright red trash cans are scattered
along the perimeter of the green field,
mouths open,
ready to receive.
Chihuahua carried in the crook of his tattooed arm
he strides across the field and passes
the tongue lolling, tail drooping,
Foot dragging pit bull
who leads the composed woman by the leash.
The scent of the green cut grass
flows through the lately leafed trees
as a home boy adjusts his do rag
with one hand and holds up his pants
with the other.
All children gone down now
for naps in small narrow beds
with brightly colored quilt
made by absent grandmothers
while mothers stir their tea
and dream of lovers
who buy them golden bracelets.
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