"Saturday"
Sunlight contents itself
with treetops. Stones shawl
themselves with shade:
The boy across the street
has begun his chores: folding
night’s remnants – draped
over the porch light, the mailbox –
laying each on a bathroom shelf
above cotton sheets, lavender
towels. His baseball mitt
has been crucified, nailed
to a front yard elm that dangles
a broken swing. His father
has hidden the evidence, buried
a hammer in the sandbox where
ants have begun to carve their
tunnels. There’s work to be done.
© 2008 S. Thomas Summers
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