Pome: Waiting For Scotty To Call In The Summer Rain

When the storm comes no one else is about. Pic: Paradisio Publishing

Waiting For Scotty To Call In The Summer Rain

waiting for Scotty to call in the summer rain

under the trees where i lay one nowgone sunny afternoon

and in the wet of this morn there is no one about

the world is a meadow

with only the sheep and their lambs grown plump on the fecund longgrass since April/May and as i wait for Scotty to call

i see again the kids i grew up with and where they are now.

how they might be.

how they turned out.

did the town square bosslads get older the same?

did the girls of laughter and fun find the merriment they deserved?

and as i wait for Scotty to call in the summer rain an ewe and it’s young walk up and

sheep

have face recognition

the accepted western canon on unglates doth posit

so as the rain comes harder and Scotty still don’t call i ponder if

the ewe and its young are pondering whether i myself grew up to have my dreams made blood and guts, the stuff of waking life…

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postscript:

he does not call

and i run on and