She rolls the nicotine lozenge around
in her mouth, staving off a cigarette.
She stares through half open shutters, tries
to visualize the ninety-eight degree
heat, too hot to walk the dogs
too hot to repot the phlox, the dirty
copper fountain has lost its splash, water sliding across the leaves in subdued murmurs.
The fish lies at the bottom of his bowl
bored by the stillness of her bedroom.
Trying to squeeze good words from her brain
she sips cold coffee from a stained mug
stares at the stack of journals on her desk,
her bra dangling from the arm of the chair
where she flung it last night, a basket of books
the photo of her father in Navy dress.
The drone of a lawn tractor fills her nose with
perfumed memories of his push mower
throwing blades of grass pasting themselves on
his trousers as he leans into his toil
a green cloud of sweetness stirring the air.
Revised January 6, 2011
© cj Schlottman
