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...