Summer Evening

SUMMER EVENING
GOLD HONORABLE MENTION JUNE 30, 1997
An overhead fan twirling
slightly off balance
taps like a Riverdancer.
The furnace, on summer setting,
breathes moving air through the house.
Windows cranked open wide
let in broiler-hot evening air.
Doors do too.
I hear a neighbor’s laugh,
and the amplified electric sound
of “Jeopardy,” from up the street.
Shrill, ecstatic children
splash in a pool down the hill.
An ambulance siren blares.
We eat ripe, warm peaches,
dripping with juice,
fresh from our tree,
too filled with heat
to eat more.
We sprawl on
two worn-denim-
colored sofas,
exposing bare legs
and arms to
a blowing,
rotating floor fan.
The intermittent breeze
moves my hair,
rustles newspapers,
ruffles the sleeping cat’s
hot cashew-and-honey fur.
He wakes,
does yoga-stretches,
steps to his water bowl,
laps cool water,
the under-ruff of his neck
dipping like willow branches
into the bowl,
then naps some more.
Ice clinks
in ice water, iced tea.
During the 10 o’clock news,
rose-scented air,
chilly, welcome
as the sound of chimes
playing Pachelbel,
drifts through
windows and doors.
The neighbor’s peacock
comes out of his torpor
and screeches.
We shower off
the residue
of heat,
stupefied,
finally cool.