Out behind the house, when a
boy, in the unlikely bullseye
of a forty foot lot, that arid square
picketed of neighbor-sized planks
and beyond – barbecues and
swingsets, lawn chairs and
scattered toys – I, shrouded in sheer
plastic raincoat, with hoodstrings
pulled tight, on those rare
rained down afternoons when
the islands of grass gave way to
the spate, crouched in the eye of
the bills, and the worry, and the
need, nodded skyward and let
each globe wash
across the perfect circle
of my face.
boy, in the unlikely bullseye
of a forty foot lot, that arid square
picketed of neighbor-sized planks
and beyond – barbecues and
swingsets, lawn chairs and
scattered toys – I, shrouded in sheer
plastic raincoat, with hoodstrings
pulled tight, on those rare
rained down afternoons when
the islands of grass gave way to
the spate, crouched in the eye of
the bills, and the worry, and the
need, nodded skyward and let
each globe wash
across the perfect circle
of my face.