Through a dusty window
on the hottest evening of the year,
silence prevails and nothing happens again
in the backyard, except the imperceptible
growth of grass, the sway of an unpruned
crepe myrtle branch in the dry wind,
a vine climbing one more square
up the fence.
Earlier, a loose dog
came round. I gave him water,
the neighbors found treats, and
I walked him home.
Before that, I slept off the wine
from a party last night
and cleaned up the cat puke
in the living room.
Now the light begins to fade,
though the heat hangs on,
and I sit here beside the dusty window,
drinking beer and Googling exotic locations
that I might want to visit.
It’s the end of another day
and still there’s no one to hold me,
to tell me I’m flawed but it’s OK.
T. Allen Culpepper