.
crowds sound like
storms trundling in from the west,
tinny music one
sad thrilling background that smells
like burgers, hot dogs …
.
remember the crack
of bat, swell of radio
cheers against cut grass
and a father’s pause
ho, pull on the beer bottle …
the dull humid heat
.
and one fly buzzing
around the grill, buzzing and
that screen door slaps shut.
orphan poems 