Mississippi, Iowa, (Summer)

The air drips molasses,
onto shabby chic gables, serene,
Screen doors sing softly,
Inviting sluggish neighborly contemplation,
Heads blanketed in humid, hump day toil,
turn towards glazed salvation,
A breath across bright water,
Each heart carried with laborious churning,
through lock and dam,
to backwater creeks,
where eagerly dipped toes, turn oysters,
and catfish sizzle,
Corn stalk pickets sleep,
upon the fallow,
And quilted winter beat haut couture,
adorns patriotic porches.

At midnight,
I saw the ghostly passing of a barge,
behind the brownstones edifice,
So languished naked upon my bed,
awaiting the cool of sleep.


Olias.