there are chicken feathers on the sidewalk,
but that's nothing new.
There is no shade this time of day,
and I wander to the studio, to the bank, to the grocer.
Almost in a fever, I buy bags and bags of fruit for the blender.
I don't want to talk to anyone.
I can hear the neighbor kids playing in their little above-ground pool through the back window,
down the lane of gardens,
and from their glee you'd think it was olympic-sized.
I blend watermelon, sugar, ice and lime and pour it into a cold jar.
I spill some on my shirt.
I sit on the couch and think of you.
For Allison
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