155. MIDSUMMER'S EVE

155.

MIDSUMMER'S EVE

He brings a sack filled with good things:

a jar of pickled okra, vintage Irish cheddar,

Lavash flatbread crispy with sesame seeds,

tomatoes still sun-warmed from his garden.

Armed with plate, knife and basket,

he mounds crackers, slices tomatoes,

lays out gherkins and cheese.

I contribute sepia bottles of icy cold beer.

The breeze picks up but it's still too hot.

I hold the chilled glass against my forehead,

lift my hair, let the air cool my damp neck.

Easy together, we laze in the backyard beneath ancient oaks;

eat, drink, laugh and tell stories until the slow arrival

of darkness is complete and the fireflies click on.

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