The.American.Word.

Lake Life

Here are the fat flies
the woozy stars
silver nets the spiders have cast

Look here, the sunflowers have come in
boats buzz the shore
the scented moon

Steaks are broiling
children are barefoot
cats asleep in their beds of mint

Here is August
with its flowery yaw
dusted pollen road to the park

The motorcycle boys
roaring back to town
stale oak breath of the shore

Here are the halter top girls
with their tan lines and bangs
scented with sunscreen and strawberry gloss

Here it is again and soon it will be gone
back to the marina, back to the forest,
back, back, back, to the vault of summers

Where it will wait for us, anthropologists
of happiness, to excavate its dew and heat,
the smack of hulls on the skin of the lake.

We will find the pulse of crickets
and engines, the mantises on their knees
whispering their small green prayers.