A Get-together

When the catgut spasms wither across my ears,
Stirred first by strokes of horse tail,
My cowhide covered feet tap

And I can stare away from the clamp-lights,
Strategically dug into porch cover cross beams,
Into the evening must, and I locate,
Naturally drawn to the disturbance,
The twinkle of lightning bugs.
I'll keep my feet taping for their thunder.

And as this lamb's wool shirt dampens,
Soaking up the proof of a celebration,
Maroon specks of lady soldiers assemble.
They organize and march over our supper,
Beginning a line dance of their own,
And carrying away our dregs,
But carrying away their subsidence.

When the catgut stops purring,
We'll be purified from our own exhaustion,
And a little closer to our condemned corner
Of the lost lush of Eden.