Fleeting

 Fleeting 

john clare

sit with me

in ninety-nine degree

humidity

atop a drain field

the view is grand

sans the yard debris

from years of accumulation

growing each year

less dear

as the memory fades

and the lure of youth

no longer bides me stay

and play torture

content for the time

given to steaming situations

to wait out the fritillary

intent upon being elusive

invading his comfort zone

sit with me

in ninety-nine degree

memory

mounds of my making

views of neighbors yards

their accumulation

equally as dear

to them as mine

one content simply to

sip the tall neck

giving up on the belly swelling

surrounded by his goats and

chickens

not understanding his neighbor

who sits atop his drain field

wondering if the sun has 

not gotten to him

listening to the other neighbor

yelling at his granny

and in the distraction

comes the fritillary

and he misses his shot.