Chewing on clover

In the park, city employees fire up equipment at 6 am.

Coffee in hand, you nod at mower and weedwhacker guys;

Stop and talk basketball with the blower man, because

He’s always looking for an excuse to stop working

And you are always looking for someone to talk basketball with

Before they go hide from the heat.

In the radiant archives of summer,

You smell fresh cut grass in your parents’ backyard;

Trim by hand where the mower won’t reach; sweep the sidewalk with a broom;

Pick a clover blossom along the fence and chew on its stem.