Sitting on the porch swing
I sip sweet tea from a jelly jar,
listen to voices of children
hiding from the heat.
Boys and girls sit in the shade of
the oak tree behind the garage.
I can hear them talking
about the places they’ll be going,
places far away from the backyards
and the tired old dogs barking
at everything…
It seems like only yesterday, when I
itched to wear grown up clothes.
Clothes, like the ones drying in the sun
hung on the line this morning.
Copyright 2006 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.