Summer Rains

Under this bulging sky,

full of summer life,

a broken-bodied man

clasping a shakey trundler,

frowns through one last summer.

Children, baked brown

as the gasping earth,

cool off with sodas,

and toss used-up cans

at the crackling pavement.

Sand, grit, human hair,

the dust and ash of some

dead Indian Yogi,

a bird carcass

with a plastic ring

round its neck,

all piled

one on the other

in this baking parking lot:

accumulated tragedies.

And the kids,  

with stubbed toes,

lark over all this wreckage.

Even the summer rains

can’t cleanse the

stench and decay

of budding life.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s