The A.C. Is Broken

In the slight shadows

of a rain cloud morning,

I step out underneath the awning

of the flat porch roof.

Only patches of darkened concrete

suggest memory of light rain

that came in the night

in the brief stirring of wind in the branches

of the maple outside

the open window of the bedroom.

I turn a bucket upside down,

cover its wet bottom

with an old T-shirt

and begin my makeshift breakfast:

a glass of tea, crackers and cheese.

I sit, shirtless,

looking out across the horses

grazing in the pasture,

the tree line leading to the road

and the creek beyond that.

In the intense green

of such a morning,

I see the dim whites of locusts

in blossom on the side of the bluff.

This sudden pouring of warm weather

as we have gone from frost to ninety-three

in one week

will trigger blooms and storms

and sudden growth

from what is not ruined.

H. Arnett



About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Blair, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-five years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-one grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.