A new poem on summer and boyhood:
He stood by the swimming pool,
His trunks sealed to his little knees
As the last breaths of the pool dribbled slowly from his calves
To kiss the crackling concrete.
Beneath his wrinkled, sunblocked brow, his eyes flashed open,
Fixed on the middle distance and the sound of a train
Stampeding down a rusted track.
As the sun pulled at his shadow, the boy dropped his goggles
And stared reverently at the noise of power behind the trees.
He had heard the stories,
The quick news that Aunt Jane had bought her house near the railroad,
But now he knew, as her back yard burst with chugging,
And her pool rippled the echo,
The spirit of wildness, the wonder of living.
He raised his chin to face the summer breeze,
Locked his knuckles,
And blessed the pulsing engine
As he felt his own horsepower tingling in his toes.