he sits there.
just back and forth
on the swing.
soon enough
the dew on the porch
from the mornings
and the hot air in the afternoon
that lays thick across the steps
will get to him.
the mass of cricket sounds,
the forest full of trees;
his family inside,
will remind him he’s sitting alone.
they leave the light on
just incase he comes inside.
Ruthanne Baxter
1.20.2007
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