Delta Town, Sunday
The summer heat is also a tourist guide.
You can follow your sweat
on the trail marked by
the Chamber of Commerce’s brochure.
The fountain’s spray is dead,
and the pool water’s
grown skin as thick as horsehide.
Thanks to the creep of algae,
the concrete’s turning green.
The cemetery’s overgrown with weeds
though there’s plenty room below for bodies.
A boy kicks a tin can along the main street
Every few feet, it lodges in the heaps of clay.
An old-timer complains about his tooth
but the dentist’s only open Tuesday, Wednesday,
and every day is Sunday in these parts.
A rope twists above the dried-up swimming hole.
The choir shakes the tiny stuffy church
from floor to ceiling.
It takes a lot of boisterous voices
to lure the sinful back to God.
Under a magnolia tree,
a young man struggles to arrange his body
in the shape of how tired he’s feeling
from the heat
Every store is closed but for the gas station
An old woman sits out on her porch,
waving her fan,
just in case some air’s been by.