The flaking fence leaned into evening,
It was the backyard drunkard,
A release of heat and energy

Deserted diversions sat idly,
Everything slackened... sadly,
In the bashful light -

The slumbering grass, itches the irksome
Overthought. I, propped up on elbow and
Watching - a telegraph pole - rigid, out of place

The insistent caterwaul of insects continued,
The crepuscular kind,
The buzz of night, waiting patiently, in line.