As I drive besides
The bayou,
Under cold
Plagued trees,
Thoughts of swinging hammocks
In the midst of humid heat
Pushes through
every other thought,
Francisco swings on the
Second hammock
That sits a little deeper
Into the the skeleton
Of a concrete house
That begs to be built,
Abandoned but not,
He’s probably high
Off his mind,
Classes are passing by,
The moment was now,
And what a way to
Spend it.