a mile from the gulf you can still smell
salt on the air some evenings
when the sea breeze
is just so.
here, on a strip of land that once had
more citrus trees than houses,
Sundays fade quickly
beneath doting live oaks.
the purple glow of evening
settles across the backyard,
gray barbeque smoke
curls in trees.
overgrown and full of deadwood,
the ligustrum needs pruning:
I wink and tell it
I’ll catch it next weekend.