A Slice of Time

Shoes cast off, except for Sundays,
Shirt, unnecessary baggage,
Wearing cutoffs we called short pants,
I, a lean lad, lay on my back

In a gray painted wooden swing
Made by my dad’s own hands,
Suspended in air by link chains
From rafters on our tiny porch,

In the hottest, driest July
In Oklahoma’s history,
A spot of shade, an oasis,
AC, a futuristic dream.

Clasping creatures to its bosom,
Heat embraced the earth,
Locking life in a fiery embrace,
Daring living things to breathe.

When, surprise! Like a gentle lover
A puff of wind, caressed my skin.
A breeze, no more than a second,
Stole across my flesh—and was gone.