Poetry by Antonia Albany
scattered
across
the lawn,
splotches of water dry on the super-heated driveway,
laughter lingers as kids head inside
to Mom’s call,
“Dinner. C’mon in.”
He turns once more to gather what’s left:
the bike on its side,
the baseball bat and wiffle ball,
a jump rope with bright pink handles.
Sunday evening settles.
Work and school wait
just beyond the night.
Antonia Albany is a retiree and author who lives in Northern California with her tripod kitty, Kali.
