Getting out

The rare, arid day, the sun
hot on my dry back,
mown grass and brittle fields
smelling like a hemp mat,
take me back to childhood
summers, a buzzing crop-duster,
saluting with a wing-dip
as my brother and I wave
then dive, facedown
onto the fragrant lawn.
Then I see my old dog
rolling to scratch her baking hide
and recollect how we got out here,
catapulted down the stairs in tandem,
fighting gravity with watchful tread,
coddling our feeble joints in the
bumbling syncopation of age.


Inspired by dVerse and the Word of the Day challenge.


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