Dog Days
The day we went fishing was a good day.
Poles in hands, hats on heads, no shoes
to slow us down. We dropped our lines
into the water where shade fell
like cool air from an icehouse
and let the cicadas do the talking for us.
Our mothers knew better than to wait supper;
we knew better than to come home too long after dark
without fish for tomorrow’s breakfast.
Photo: Boys fishing in a bayou, taken by Mary Post Wolcott, June 1940.
Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Division.
2 comments:
terrific summer poem, sharon. i can imagine those lines dropping into the water and the scent of that cool air! love the accompanying photo.
great ending, too — it's soooo true.
a.
Thank you, Arlene!
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