Late Afternoon in a Different Time

Late Afternoon

The sky was ablaze with gorse,

I played hide and seek on the tracks between

till a high wind tired of that, so I took the boat out onto the lake,

went fishing for pike.

Countries changed into dogs, bears, ugly guys with misplaced noses;

I looked at the hills, they were wreathed in white thorn,

then turning onto my stomach, I let the sun lie on my back

while I read a little, Treasure Island.

The swallows were wheeling over Wyoming canyons;

I shifted in my rocky lair, but could see no indians coming;

there was a stirring under the palm tree,

and a spider walked up my arm, I watched him for awhile;

he had made a scrawny web of Italy so I blew on him

and the sun moved toward five.

I could see the burst football was not about to play,

so I poked my finger into the blue and looked at it with one eye shut;

the sun was a scorching white ball that no one could look at directly;

I mopped the sweat from my forehead and drained my canteen dry,

then turned onto my side. There were blossoms on the apple trees

and a voice like metal came through the privet hedge.

The voice was calling tea-time; a familiar voice to be sure,

but an escapee from another sky.