Empty Porches

the street’s heat lifted after six,
the children finishing up, doing the dishes,
yammering for attention and freedom.

the old elm tree slumped, it leaves sere,
its long limbs holding on for life,
the threatening skies pushing strong winds
now.

if the storm came, the family would move
inside, but for now they sat,
after supper memories pushing the years
away.

whispered conversation passed like ghosts, those
memories of farm fields stretching past
the doorsteps, the new roads changed
from dust to cement.

toward eight the porches gave way
to thoughts of sleep, and electricity
flashed overhead to boom
later, 7-8-9 beats away.

no one sat too long, no radio crackled
static, for sleep was precious, and
it was best to get it now
while you could.