lazy too hot do nothin’ day
on a nothin’ going on July cooker
except for the hu-mid-i-ty
and the metal fan driving the Indy 500
a speed phenomena going around in circles
humming an old blues tune
trees applauding the sudden presence of a breeze
dog strummin’ his guitar to year of the cat
howling at the late afternoon moon
between sips of drinks
from a cold water metal bowl on an uneven wooden floor
that has the groans of an old man sitting down
and creaks and squeaks in the hallway
heard in the downstairs bedroom
where you can find the cool no matter who was down there
screen door slam the soundtrack of summer
train whistle a county away
it’s more like a blast—a blast from the past
freight or passenger I wonder to myself and nobody else
the rumble shakes and quakes the windows
I stare out the front one
looking through the dirty screen of seasons past
and over the stalks of corn
the window held up by a stick of old wood that doubles as a lock
ah, it’s freight, coal mostly
with a few graffiti sprayed boxcars along for the ride looking sad
no caboose—they’re rusting away in some freight yard
forgotten by many, unknown to many more
gone are the old men of the railroad
like my grandfather before me
Damn, I never asked which one he worked for
