How did I get here?
The summer stream of dry air
Is blown past the cars that park
On the city streets.
I dream of the green hose my mother used
To hook up our sprinkler when I was a child.
The baked tar of the new section of road
Seems to moisten in the hot sun.
The 'oo' in 'school' painted on its
Deep black surface looks like zeroes
Added to the thermometer's numbers,
Telling me how hot it really is.
The summer stream bed is dry now,
Only baked rocks and browning plants
Decorating its banks.
I wonder how I got from there to here,
From city to farm,
From hectic to serene,
As I hook up the green hose
So like my mother's,
To moisten the soil of my plants.