Summer In The Fast Lane
by Neil Leadbeater

Seeing the Cropmaster in the open field
Miss Herbert turned from the window.
How do you spell tractor
she asked.
Harry's hand shot up so fast
he was first back with the answer.

Correct, she said.

I, too, could spell that word
but I was too slow to raise my hand.
Even then summer's growth
was quicker than
I thought—

it caught me dreaming in the
Green Corridor
that slow majestic in the minor key
which is

the purple hairstreak lane

the large skipper lane

and the clouded yellow lane

all the things I never wanted
to draw down to a close.


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