The sky is thick and dreamlike with clouds,
great battleships of cotton and luster
sailing to an endless azure tune—
on my back beneath the poplar tree
I listen to the steady whine of the horse fly.
Rain has come over the central plains in torrents,
heavy running along the window panes
heavy with oblong droplets pelting skin,
duck from backdoor to garage, to house again.
Three days of the stuff, and now—
A tiny buzz alerts me to a visitor.
Wind sore and curious, a yellow hover fly
lands on my forearm and chutes his long nose
to sniff at my skin. I raise my hand to usher him off,
but his curiosity has earned him satisfaction.
I watch as a blister beetle makes an attempt
up the poplar tree base; only to be thwarted
by gravity, swatted to the dirt floor.
Black carpenter ants weave loop-de-loops around her,
and I scoot my legs to the other side so as to avoid her toxin.
On my walk back along the brick sidewalk,
I see for rent, for sale, many houses—
most with yard signs hammered deep into the front lawn,
“We’re Glad You’re Our Neighbor” and “Love is Love”
and “Elect Marty Pile for Mayor”.
Cotton-tailed bunny rabbits dance the jig
and bounce for their lives from my stroll.
I even see a deer, tawny with white speckles
leap over a row of chain link backyard fences
with a twang! The sun stays high
until 9:30 p.m. these days; nights
so short and static,
I take two naps a day and still
I sleep like a child.