Poetry Here (Mostly)

A Kid Out West

While we play from morning until long after supper,

hotter than a million jalapenos, fire

keeps Dad away from home, he’s been gone all summer.

Fans whirl hot breezes, air blows cooler at the malls,

getting soaking wet is what we kids desire,

sick of kicking soccer balls, and those skateboard falls.

No one wants to drive us to a pool or the sea,

so, like Dad, I grab the hose and spray a shower;

we splash ourselves and fling mud to the sky and trees.

Mom sent friends home, ran my bath, rubber ducky floats.

I sink boats, melt soap that smells like Mom and flowers.

Bubbles gargle throat, hope my belly doesn’t bloat.

I’ll be in second grade, when we go back to school;

this year, I’ll do my work, and try not to be bad,

Mom will be glad, and I’ll be proud to see my Dad.

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