…A bad moon rising
That song wafts through my mind over Katy’s teething.
The clammy heat of a ripe New York summer does not help.
She fusses, drools, sucks and gnaws her fist.
Her hair is matted, prickly heat is lurking.
…trouble on the way.
“We’re going out.”
Ben nods, lost in his black and white basketball game.
…don’t come around tonight.
In the shop’s window, Luigi prepares pizza dough.
He throws the small circle in the air, stretching it on the spin.
She stills, then giggles, pain forgotten as he repeats the gestures.
A raindrop plops.
…we’re in for nasty weather.
I wonder who is playing now in Woodstock.