I would listen in the night

For the familiar roar

And crunch of rubber tire

On gravel,

And the quiet that follows

When an engine dies

Into the cricket's song.



And I would watch

After the slam of the door

Punctuated the dark air

And calmed my worries.



The grass glowed 

An unnatural green

Against the dark

As the floodlight beat down

Upon it.

Then sometimes,

When the moon added her glow,

I would see you emerge

On the path,

Halfway up our hill.



Most nights though

You would appear later,

A ghostly gray

As you approached

The floodlight's 

Sphere of influence.



And there you strode,

Full and manly

In gray shirt and pants

Under your orange helmet,

With the arched rectangle

Of your lunchbox

Hanging black from your hand,

your brown tool-pouch

slapping your thigh

Like a leather holster.



You passed the retaining log

And started up the brown path

Amid the unnatural green.



Sometimes you'd see me

and wave,

Or stop and give

A jaunty salute;

Or perhaps you would glower

To see me up so late.



But it didn't matter...

I could sleep now



After willing you home

One more night.


       İMarch 27, 1999