IISZ 2018 Challenge #4 - Word Dog Run

[nibbed]

Through Jesse's grimy window
a faded two-seater swing sleeps
under snowdrifts carved, must be
the wind's secret electric knife, the one
that only hums through deep distractions
or buzz saw nights, the green striped canopy
is caved in now, faded in splotches
of bird poop and sun.

He's buried in veteran's park
from diabetes and the drink. Ya know
he hammered and nailed the eaves, wired
the old church when it was new,
when our grandmothers painted murals
of Noah on Sunday School walls
before their Amazing Grace bells
were traded for a mineret and the muezzin call

and he built that shed better
than any man could:
Solid wood that still smells fresh,
windows now grimy
once one finger vinyls,
found framed in grey spider garland
and hollow cotton candy balls.

Oak leaves tumble on his stone in Autumn
as squirrels wrestle and dance on the fence nearby,
cousins to the ones who dare tightrope house to pole.

I can see him & Carl laughing at their circus,
sipping my worrisome lemonade from sweaty mason jars
because beer wouldn't get the job done.

Yes, I see them, Carl's bronze shoulders,
Jesse's red-round face,
his suspenders with a belt, just in case.