April

Saturday in the backyard, the wind
moving now and again through the tall
pine trees, and the faint sound of
wind-chimes off in the distance.
Children bouncing on a backyard trampoline,
as neighbors discuss grilling up steaks.
A few cars drive up and down the street.
A dog is asleep on the sunny concrete,
breathing heavier now to the sound
of cars driving up and down the street.
Steaks sizzle from the neighbor’s grill;
voices complain of early spring heat.
People laughing, getting tipsy, as the wind
moves rapidly, bending the tall pine trees.
Children go indoors to sleep. Wind-chimes
clang closer, louder, in strange, broken chords.
Soon, woodsmoke will fill the air, soon
the blare of brush-rig sirens, but nothing
can be heard over the hooting and hollering
of drunken adults bouncing into the night
on a backyard trampoline. After all
it’s Saturday, and once again, this is April.