having skipped Vienna for summer camp

there is a certain
poetry
to the way the dust swirls
about the
rolling feet of vehicles
coming down the lane,
to moths dancing
around the light fixture
which is a few bulbs short

there is a certain
music
that floats across
brown grass fields
from children's throats
as they frolic in the mud,
from hot aluminum pans
fresh scrubbed of
crusty cheese
clattering together
on their way to the cupboard

there is a certain
beauty
in every purple plastic
milkshake cup
scattered across the road,
in the thick layer
of dust on every surface
(a virtual canvas begging
"Jeff + Becky = true love forever")
and in the soft green
strands of poison ivy
embracing every tree

August, 2002