Lazy Sundays

Fields and lovely. This is where you find the founding fathers. Nestled among the cold gray stones. Down the street by the Wendy’s and McDonald’s. Here there are tombstones where men are men. Some headstones rising like cathedrals over rows of mirror houses where car fenders and seventeen year old eyes watch hands that move too quickly, where farm trucks choke to death at intersections and voices move on past libraries. Store fronts selling microwaves and refrigerators.

Moments in green ivory. The smell of trespassing in crisp folded letters. And a night sky lit up with stars like the eternity of a young boy’s eyes. Lazy Sundays Fields and lovely.