There were rabbits under the porch                                                            
            chickens in the yard                                                            
            Morning Glories                                                
climbing up wires.                                                

They bloomed purple                                                                          
             and pink                                                                          
             and red                                                                          
             and blue                                                
before the sun came up.                                                

Old dogs laid around                                               
in cool grass                                                
on hot days.                                                

And when the work had slowed in the fields                                                
              the men came in                                                
to be served iced tea.  
They leaned against shade trees                                                  
with one foot propped on the bark                                             
their hats pushed back on their heads.                                                
Their bibbed overalls were dirty                                                
with hay dust.                                                

They talked and laughed                                                                          
and drank tea                                                
               until they had their fill.                                                  

I watched.                                                
I watched until nothing was left                                                
but empty glasses                                               
              dirty dishes                                                
and memories of the men I knew.                                                

I leaned against the same shade tree                                                
propped my foot on the bark                                                
pushed back my hat                                                    
and pretended I was one of them.                                                  

I would stand there                                                
until the rabbits                                                
came out from under the porch.                                                  

It was the last summer of my youth  
Tony Sexton