it is a warm day in June and they are boys
boys without a mission, but with energy to spare
kansas boys, nebraska boys, boys who are as
familiar with seasons of growth and harvest as
others know goal posts from basketball hoops
they walk, run, mander three abreast
through fields of yellow grain and cornstalks as
tall as an elephants eye, and the talk of tractors
and girls and the price of sorghum
they dive naked into a watering hole surrounded
by cattle they have raised, and horses who's bodies...
strong flanks, long necks, silky manes....
are as familiar to the touch as their own....
the old door to the barn promises shade for dreaming,
and straw for napping before the evening chores give way to
clean shirts, sun-washed hair, and the
promise of junebugs fluttering like angels over
their teenage dreams of a young girl's second glance,
outside the tasty freeze on an oklahoma friday night....
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