Talking in the Night

Right after supper
I’d enjoyed sitting
on the swing out back.
Two long steel chains
suspended a double wide bench.

On the floor were Grandma’s
pride and joy.
There they sat confined,
some in redbone earthenware
some in green and gray splattered ceramics.

Prickly pears,
varying sizes and shapes
all with green platyclades
covered in long pointy needles.

I think they were placed
were they be, for me.
So as not to loose my mind
on the swing
“Slow down child”
I’d hear from the kitchen
reminding me the swing
wasn’t really for swinging,
at least the way a New York child
was accustomed to.

Slowing down to a stop,
my ears started to pay mind
to the talking going on.
Something up in the trees would start in
“NA-NA-NA …knee-knee-knee
NA-NA-NA-NA…. knee-knee-knee-knee.”
Back and forth it went,
on and on, answering each other
using the same basic sounds

Then grasshoppers would chime in,
their legs chirping out a noise
that sounded to me
like a low long “twwwwirrrrrllll.”

Down by the pond, as if annoyed
to have not been invited to the party,
frogs would burp out their, loud
rolling “RIDDIP, RIDDIP”

The racket going on made it seem
like they were all around me.
Sitting on the swing
the thought crossed my mind
“What are they talking about?
Are they taking bets if I would fall,
landing on Grandma’s prickly pears?”

I know the frogs were telling each other
“Watch out for the city slicker with the flashlight”
Yeah one minute leg’s hanging in the water,
next minute legs cooking in the skillet.

Them grasshoppers were sure afraid,
doomed of ending up on my hook.
Wiggling and trying to get off
the end of my fishing pole
before some big ole fish
come by eating them,
shortly followed
by me eating them both.

The only creatures I didn’t
hear from was them worms.
Not a peep or holler,
But they shared the same fate
as the grasshoppers.
“Lines in the sand” was what they
probably was doing,
“Lines in the sand.”

All the while I was
wishing I could be Dr.Doolittle,
so as I could hush them
like Grandpa hush’s me.

Well that ain’t happening
So off I would go,
up to bed,
followed by some night talk
of my own with the sandman.

Copyright © 2008 Ronald J. Edwards