I leave the dumb country to live in town
close to the nice nurse, Miss Grace, that helped me
cope with my fickle rheumatism.
There is no line marking town from country
nowadays, it’s all a blur with transports
stopping at every corner, and fewer trees.
A wind groans between their leaves as they get
chopped down to make more roads.
It’s hot every day of the week, include
Sundays, when the air is free from insect
bites—the church will not buy fans—so I stay
in my section and moan while pollen takes
flight on cedar-seed wings and soars. Old age
my friend, is another pain in the butt.