Saturday, February 5, 2011


I wait for him
each morning crouched over
patches of oil in the drive
striking cap lines with a hammer
while I steal glimpses
and launch concrete chips
accidental to my eyes.
In the house, Grandmama
fills a cooler with ice
and Kool-Aid concentrate
ties string to the handle
so I can loop around my neck
reminds me screw the top level
with a flat hand so the threads stay true.
About noon I flip the rectangle stopper
stick my tongue through the hole
tilt and trickle undiluted
nectar down my throat.
We hike the levy
rip off shirts, shoes
crouch in sludge
hold bottles in the river
and wait for current
to push tadpoles in.

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