Yard Work

On dead, dry, summer afternoons I used to watch my dad work around the lawn his dusty, brown work gloves carried the wheel barrow or leaned the shedding ladder against the house. The briny voice of the radio tells the score while the sun plays in the trees. I make my own games on the ground. Later, Mom will call the dogs in and Dad will lay the fertilizer over the yard. tangy rays of sunlight will cut across the barbwire and cars will pass the mailbox home from work, so they can enjoy BBQ dinner.