a cobbler tang
floats in steam
through the house,
it urges you to lie in grass
feel dew on your toes
listen to bees,
it makes you swing on the porch
and watch the bluebirds feed
until it’s time to come in,
and you watch her set the pan
on the table,
juices still bubbling
hot as July, and hear
daddy smack his lips
and say, God, you cooked
the summer out