the second flight of the samaras
the industrious child spent
his morning picking up the fallen fruit
of the maple tree
placing them one or two or three at a time
into a plastic orange pail
as his mother sat on the glider
on the front porch
rocking the little one to sleep
comfortably in her arms
both bundled within a shawl
a cool breeze made the boy’s cheeks
as pink as the tulips that bloomed
nearly a month ago
and when the pail became filled
to his satisfaction he disappeared
into the house
only to reappear in a second story window
where he proceeded to pretend
a fleet of military choppers
converged behind enemy lines
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
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