Portland in Summer
by Judy Clarence
Lying in the wet grass, under sprinklers,
lemonade in tall, striped plastic glasses.
Croquet in the evening, the old wooden mallets and balls,
bike rides as the sun sets, round and round the block,
salads for dinner; another bike trip
to the frozen custard shop across the railroad tracks,
that hot uphill pedaling over the viaduct.
Back at home, Jack Benny on the radio.
Mom cools me off as I move toward sleep,
fanning me with wave after wave of soft sheets.
Darkness; the sound of Chopin from the living room,
The piano keys warm now at her touch.