On Mainstreet the dust is now covered
by asphalt which covers cobblestone. No
more drivers running cattle through town.
They tried to re-anact that part of our history
once, but some steers got away and headed
for the crowd. We parted and ran like Spaniards in a bull run. Those steers can get onnery, you know. They rounded 'em up allright. No one  was hurt allthough some egos were a little bruised. Front page news the next day.

The same thing happened one night when some steers got out of their holding pens at the Fairgrounds and ran up 9th Street, took a left on Chestnut and another left at the apartment complex where we were living at the time. What finally stopped them was the chain-link fence in the back. My son who was six at the time come barrelling in yelling, "Mom there are cows in the back yard!" I laughed and asked him what the heck he was talking about.

I stepped out the door and sure enough there
they were steers straining against the link fence in an effort to escape, like college sorority kids pushing themselves into a phone booth. Dented them in real nice. Just about then the cowboys showed up with trailers and took care of it. But darn it! The battery in my camcorder was dead. I could have made a mint on  'America's Funniest Home Videos'...

I perspire
under ceiling fans
Sweat blesses my forehead 
lips annoited
with the element of salt
The taste reminds me
who I am-
between tart and sweet
on the tongue

In these days
dogs lay sluggish
on the tired lawns
breath labored
no barks at walking souls
with hats drawn down
Joggers have retired
to treadmills
water bottles in hand

Old men sit on porches
giving mouth-to-mouth
to bottles of Bud and dream
of days when they were king
Children drink in the sun
undaunted by heat
and revel in their glory
with rebel yells and laughter
that echo under the bridge
as they wade in the creek

My cat seeks the cool smooth
welcome of wood floors
a hunter now only in his sleep
Shades are lowered
on the Southside
where paint softens
and expands on clapboards
Bees drugged on sprinkler water
from the poppy beds
drop and roll in orbit

Under weight of leaf cells
fat with chloryphil
from a chosen sun
the trees bow down
in the torched breeze
Sheets dry on the line
as June bugs take a sauna
and mate between the sails

Soon the smell and smoke
of charcoal lighter hamburger grill
will blend with the haze
over the hills, a patchwork now
of wheat just turned golden
and mellow green tones of grapevines

The paper will hit the porch
Rolling stereos on wheels
will boom down 3rd Avenue
one of the few remaining streets
without traffic lights, burnt rubber
mixing with softened asphalt-
a permanent reminder
of sowed oats and youth

I pad in bare feet
my hair tied up off my neck
the vintage '70s window box
air conditioner
finally resting in peace
during heat in the three digits
I perspire under ceiling fans
and the salt on my tongue
reminds me who I am

(c) Linda Gayton 2006