Mosquito Hum
Dry afternoon, floating breeze upon the hips of the earth
Languid bodies in lawn chairs awaiting rebirth
or the hum of mosquitos
to signal it's time to go in.
To go in, to forget about this perfect afternoon, this ecliptical night
Lips to sip wine out of Waterford crystal, plastic forks to go with the plates.
Squirrels sneaking up to drink water off the pool cover
Tree like the four corners of the world shading us
We have no brain power on this lazy day and a conversation of this tree ensues
It's west limb is a menace to the house, the roof, and all mankind in general.
The consensus is split sharply in two. Half say: "Tear it down" in murmurs about forthcoming monster storms,
half groan in disgust at the thought of killing a living thing.
A lone peach from the neighbors tree has tempted us on "our" side of the fence
-this too is talked about in great detail, as the earth spins, the tide pulls, we age silently, night taps us on the
shoulder, the mosquitos hum - and with our dry eyes, just adjusted to the dark, we bid good night...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
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