Wilt
Something spits out twangy summer notes
Under the shadow of a tree
Sal watches his children
He sips from the beer in his fattened paws
His lip briefly lined with froth
His tongue swipes away
The eldest is almost beautiful,
Has Sal’s static and sandy hair
And wet, blooming lips
She’ll be beautiful
I’ll be ugly when such is so
Sal, greying Sal, muses and sips
For here and now Sal is under the maple
While his children frolic
And before the sun sets
This slice of now seems permanent
How many more days under the maple
Sal has begun to count to a number he doesn’t know
The eldest looks back at us
Last summer she was less beautiful
Next summer when we are under the shade of the maple
She will be more beautiful
She runs
As children do
Towards beauty and towards maturation that seems like it will never come
She climbs, she fumbles, she will wear lipstick that is too red
When she reaches the top of what she has been climbing towards
She will turn and she will wave at ugly Sal
And then she will try in vain to come back to the days when what was rotting sat under the shade
And what was ripening played under the sun
Give Papa a kiss
The youngest shoves the eldest in a frenzy of playful disregard
She falls but a bruise is nothing
She stands
She laughs
She turns
She chases her brother
Under the shade, Sal reaches for the sunscreen
He checks his watch to see if it has been two hours
He calls for the eldest
Has she reapplied
Give Papa a kiss
