bugs on the windshield means it’s summer
and on the street
that splits the town in two
vagabonds trudge
like lost opportunities
that bed’s
overflowing
leaf springs
creaking
under gray orange
comfort
of seasoned
Madrone
a station wagon becomes
impatience itself
in the laundromat parking lot
a bookstore
hatches fleas
and the forest
itches
the whole hot
summer
pickup trucks like guard dogs
shake dust from their coats
and bark and growl and square off
in driver side to driver side
roadside conversations
wrinkled youth
old and smooth
vulture crow conspiracies
tanoak keeps a secret
and redwood dreams of rain.