Like Lake County on
the 4th of July weekend.
Survival only.
Heat, flies, no children
In the dank lakeshore mobiles.
No fit food. Boredom.
"Next year," she says, chin
out, stubborn, determined once,
"Spring. Fall. Not summer."
"Certainly. Spring. Fall."
Until the next summer when
The siren song peals.
Midnight. Ninety five
Degrees Fahrenheit. Baby
Screams all the night long.
He remembers the
Summers of his childhood there.
Friends, sun, swimming, fun.
She sees only the
Thing as it is. Old folks shut
Up in mobile homes.
The children fretting
With the heat and the boredom.
"I want to go home."
Driving home escape.
Maybe next year she'll stay home.
Let him go alone.
Copyright © 25 August 1996 by
Heather Madrone. All rights reserved.