April

Saturday in the backyard, the wind
moving now and again through the tall
pine trees, and the faint sound of
wind chimes off in the distance.
Children bouncing on a backyard trampoline,
as neighbors discuss grilling up steaks.
A few cars drive up and down the street.
A dog is asleep on the sunny concrete,
breathing heavier now to the sound
of cars driving up and down the street.
Steaks sizzle from the neighbor’s grill;
voices complain of early spring heat.
People laughing, getting tipsy, as the wind
moves rapidly, bending the tall pine trees.
Children go indoors to sleep. Wind chimes
clang closer, louder, in strange, broken chords.
Soon, wood smoke will fill the air, soon
the blare of brush-rig sirens, but nothing
can be heard over the hooting and hollering
of drunken adults bouncing into the night
on a backyard trampoline. After all
it’s Saturday, and once again, this is April.