It’s a hat hunch summer, driving down the long curved road
early sun dagger bright through the wind shield
the dust in cotton red fluff behind.
We pile out dressed to digits’ ends
green roped buckets harnessed on;
wading in among cicada song and the whine-whistle of flies.
Velcro vines drag ladders through everything
except the kids who make cars from rocks
drive the dust in ribbons around themselves;
bare dust-socked hands seeking our precious buckets as the hour ticks around.
Back at home, a cauldron pot gleams,
sugar crystals bristle and slither among the pimpled purple globes.
Kitchen's warlock hot, jars in oven, and the clatter of hard work.
Winter weekend, glitter of cutlery,
Mum’s teapot at the ready, Dad’s dealing teaspoons
and children’s eyes swarm the table like ants
for the pop-lidded glass jars, the whipped cream
and the steam-damp tea-towel hiding scones.
Written for Miz Quickly’s Oct 1 prompt “Words”