School’s Out–Lazy Summer
by Gail Denham

When I was a mid-teen, days were so simple.
After lunch, I’d lie on dried grass, under our
scraggy junipers, and dream a bit. Wooden screen
doors slammed. Next door, sprinklers “whacked”.

After awhile, friends and I rode our no-speed
bikes to our church, prowled the kitchen for snacks.
Churches weren’t locked then. All we found were
sugar cubes. We took drinks from an outside hose.

Our group stopped by Mel’s house. We sprawled
in her shades-drawn living room and talked about–
oh I don’t know–nothing and everything. We were
deep in a dreamy, long, delicious afternoon.

Finally, we headed to Cent Wise Drugstore in town,
where nickel cokes lasted a few hours. A cardboard
stand on the counter gave fun answers to
our questions, for five cents a punch.

As shadows widened on sidewalks, friends and I
headed home. After supper, my siblings and I tuned
to our favorite radio shows. We asked Dad if he’d
take us to Smith Rocks, Saturday, for a hike.

Mom made cookies; the smell was delicious.
As we coasted to sleep, we could hear wind rustling
the junipers and bugs hitting the screens. A lazy
summer day closed quietly.



 

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