Rehydration
Jes mamma an me sittin on the
porch
of a hot Sunday
with flies for guests
for visitors
and “buzz” for a song
Main Street, like a dry river
bed, jes down the steps
nothin on it movin
‘til the services end and
smokebelchin ol Chevies and
pick-ups cough by with neighbors-like-strangers
givin a nod to us (or to the
flies)
as they go by
I hear the boys, Petey &
Joe
up on the porch roof
playin some boy-foolishness
up there high above the Main
Street trickle
They like to be high up
over things
up trees, up telephone poles
climbin
like there’s somewheres to
climb to
Main Street dries up again
parched for traffic
cracked and pitted
with thirst for some
people
with a job or a store
or a friend
to go to
Mama’s darnin socks—makin do
I’m tappin a pen
watchin her try to mend
the holes left
when the mine closed down
Then I see Miss Teacher
she’s walkin from church
polished apple-bright
and crisp as a mackintosh
The riverbed sits right up
and drinks her in
like God’s own sweet rain
So, I climb into her eyes and
look around
and she climbs into my mind
and she walks around
“Mornin, Miss Teacher”
“Mornin, Lisa, I need that
piece by Monday”
“Yes, Ma’am”
Yes, Ma’am
--Joe Bellacero
