Dog Days On Lake Hamilton

The lake here stinks in August.
Parasites cling to clumps of weed
and dream of inner thighs.
Porch lights are left on for snakes,
and the lake fills up with Texans.
Docks rock from the great wall wakes
of ocean going vessels with
manikins in bikinis supine on the prow

(all those little debutantes still curtsy to a bow).

Oh, there's watermelon and chocolate pie, but it's
a chicken bone decoration, and from Aunt Helen's
sun tea jar, a much too sweet libation.

Yes, the lemon swirls, and the ice cubes click,
and the sun goes down with a tick...tick...tick,
then a floor fan stirs up the thick night air
(there's a firefly on the screen),
and the children here are sweating,
trying hard to dream.


(Arkansas Magazine, August 30, 1987; Sou'wester, Southern Illinois Univ, Fall 1988)