Memorial Day

Memorial Day 5-30-94

The crickets chirp.
The crow caws.
The pinwheel squeaks
in the wind.
The dog barks.
The bug crawls on my knee.
The old man plants flowers
in the distance.
Roughly eight o'clock p.m.
and eighty degrees.
Summertime.
The squirrels are busy
and the grass has grown for the day.
The trees whisper at dusk.
The sun has gone
and the night rolls in.
The cemetery is closing,
come again.