Thursday, June 30, 2016

Molly's Summer

She hated the noise and smell of
the city streets in summer.
Car engines buzzing and roaring.
Charred and smoky asphalt,
the hot tar sizzled odor she
couldn’t shake from her nostrils.

She missed the sound of
the brook near her grandma’s
place, the rustling stillness of a
summer wind gracing the long
fields, the scent of flowers and
sweet pies at the fair.

A bus passed Molly and she
coughed in a cloud of diesel
exhaust. The air was thick and
grey.  The constant trumpeting
of car horns and wah-wahing sirens
piercing every echoed city canyon.

She longed for the sun; un-obscured
by the concrete pillars of business and
trade. She felt sad to walk in endless
shadows across long stretches of
hot city sidewalks. It was a weight
she bore heavily on her hunched shoulders.

She missed her jean shorts and tee-shirts,
running wild with Danny as they played
for hours near the old wood tree fort
near the Old Mill. They chased butterflies and
fireflies, and were never swallowed by any
long shadows.

Her city skin was pale, like she’d never once
been a tanned child of the sun. Her Danny,
out in the field, tanned, toned, laughing as
he sat on the back of a pick-up truck with a
cool lemonade in his hand.  Molly had an
iced Mocha latte something she’d spilled
when nudged by a rude businessman.

The city, crowded, serious, grey.
Molly hoped she could get out soon.
Hoped she could get back to her
open fields, sun dresses and barefoot
summer strolls guided by moonlight
and twinkling stars.

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