Euclid and State Route 4

Moths spin like whirling dervishes
In the mercury light’s brilliant wash
On the corner of Euclid and State Route 4.

The light hums with electricity
As thousands of papery wings batter
Assault each other in the hot night.

In the west, sheet lightening charges the sky
Illuminating cloud mountains
Rising eight miles above Arkansas cotton.

Somewhere in town, gear jockeys violate the peace
Engines screaming like mechanical demons
To the squeals of girls in tight jeans.

I sit with my brother on Grandma’s porch swing
Heels digging into flooring, smoothed by a hundred years wear
Thighs working, keeping cadence with our pulse.

Behind us, in the bowels of the old frame house
Our parents talk with mom’s mom of dead relatives and dry crops.
Maybe this lightening means rain.

I knit my fingers across my face
Breathing through my hands
Smelling the leather of my baseball mitt still on my skin.

My brother laughs, mostly at nothing.
I laugh too.
Our laughter builds like lightening, both with nothing in it.

Mom demands to know what we’re up to.
We’re not into mischief, are we?
Are we getting into trouble?

Of course not.
Trouble will come years later
Far from Grandma’s porch.

Long after the moths have fallen
As have the rains
After the gear jockeys have taken to Buicks

After Euclid has been paved
And State Route 4 widened
And bulldozers have leveled Grandma’s house.

Then, we will have trouble
Beyond that which makes brothers laugh together in the dark.