Just Another Steinbeck Summer

Grandpa finally got gas lights
that cast sharp relief on his craggy
features and shone a silhouette
of forehead mesa, nose spire
and a chin plateau on the plank
panelled wall behind his snores.
"Of Mice and Men" laid flat
against his slumbering chest.

The tuneless hum that comes
from an age before the electronic
buzz polluted silence, snuck
into the cottage summer and Granny's
throat like the chirp of tiny
tree toads hiding by the wood pile.
As if that would save them
from the stalker kitty with a tase
for moths and amphibian songsters.

I miss the trek back to the farm
yet stories of the stubborn horse
that pulled the plough through soil,
laid thin on continental shield,
still reign the night; when Coleman
lanterns cast shadows on the walls
and snores as soft as kitten paws
sneak into the quiet summer night.

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