When Seasons Go Bad

When Seasons Go Bad

The June bugs are in bloom
the heat a red-cheeked stranger
panting at my side
the yard is brown
and full of treachery
a garden hose coils
menacingly
a sprinkler chases a child
a plastic soldier left for dead
shoulders his bazooka
the sun gives up its cloud and moves in
the neighbors have retreated
doors shut tight
on their factory-cooled spaces
a Jenn-Air clicks on
a metal island
of machine breezes
its whirling hum
incubates
drowns out
the fire, the brimstone
beating down from the cauldron
hissing up from the grass
boiling, boiling
the violence
of hell descending


Catfish

Running through uncut grass
in dirty feet
stopped short
by an old tin bucket
back of the house
smells like creek water
emits small slapping sounds
the dank metal coming alive
dimly visible beneath dark water
are ghostly shapes
that suddenly spasm and grow eyes
their protests against the sides
weak and intermittent
are lost against the largeness
of a summer evening
heard only by myself
and the indifferent squirrels
who rule the yard
with their casual comings and goings
and know the fate that awaits catfish behind the tool shed