Saturday, September

Air is sultry, silky, weighted;
sauna-hot with steam.
The clock keeps up a steady tick
and chimes into my dream.
Grandson doesn't want
a hug; he's much too big,
says he.  He sucks his thumb
and hides from 'scary' Veggies on tv.

Schoolbooks are all stashed
away; Saturday's for play.
Raindrops splatter blades of
grass, but look: I see a ray
come slashing
through the wall of clouds.

September; Saturday.