escalon

amidst the rain of spring’s chaotic end

a blistering warmth falls on the valley.

this is not the cliché they call “cali,”

rather the pieces that the locals tend.

an open screen door, the knock from a friend

with a lecture from mom not to dally.

kids throw a ball across a back alley.

the sound of a sprinkler, we all attend.

burgers on the grill, the scent of cut grass.

back to the house, the brisk chill of forced air.

the stench of the dairy, normal to us.

sweet tea brewed fresh is iced cold from the glass.

weekend nights we hop rides to the state fair,

sticky candy hands are simply a plus.