children’s squeals and shouts at noon.
Swings hang plumb to center,
chains and seats too hot to touch—
brittle grass, frying-pan asphalt.
At dusk, the kids peer out front doors,
turtle back where they came from.
Down the street, machine rattle and hum,
not a soul stirs, dogs pant under cottonwoods,
even cats cower under the shrubs.
Hammocks flutter in a hallway of front porches.