Don’t Carry the World

by Charlotte Hamrick

On hot Southern days 
when the air shimmered
and birds ceased to sing, 
we'd lounge beneath 
the old wisteria tree where 
the red clay earth was cool 
and compact, our bare legs 
stretched out for maximum chill 
while we sipped RC Cola
infused with salty peanuts 
and waited for “Hey Jude”
to come over the transistor. 
Verdant featherly strands encircled us 
like a bead curtain in a hippie's house
while we imagined we were as cool as they, 
secretly watching the  cows and chickens.