poems by owen lucas

Burr Pond and the sun's sunk almost
behind the conifers, spreads last sepia
across the cobwebbed water, catching
gold on the tangled twigs and drowned insects
scummy on the surface, sending families
goose-pimples to pack them back in the van.
The barbecues are folded, stowed, kids
are wet and scolded, crabby in the fading
evening with lake-chill and sundown.
The nylon towels, Disney emblazoned,
scratch young hides, muss hair, whining
follows the cool-boxes and volleyballs
back beneath the trees. Black teenagers
swear and joke, pull sandy swimshorts out
of butt cracks, and make off. The lakeside
is clearing out, but the last rowdy Latin
family hubbub hovers and swells under
the copse, a smell of charcoal and men's
deoderant lingers near the picnic benches.
The Canada geese amble out of the water,
shake, stretch their necks, and make
a survey of the noisy evening sands.