wag their heads slowly,
blowing hot air around,
pretending to be as cool
as the AC is.
There is a giggling. The children
laughing, innocent, childish,
running, lacing the yards
together, a stitching
of pure glee.
There is a burring. The mowers
eating neighborhood lawns
making all grass equal, each
at a slightly different pitch,
gas-fueled harmonies.
There is a rumbling. The trash
cans being rolled to the street
making artificial thunder on
a cloudless cool night, the
early moon keeping watch.
There is a humming. The houses
at night, filled with just the
right people, vibrating quietly
with joy, satiated on love,
and yielding to sleep.

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