Waiting for the Sun

It's there.  It's trying to kill us.
Trying to kill us all
A/C breakdown, 106, dry dry foothills
One massive, gaseous, life-giving, left-ending star
Baking the upholstery, cooking my thighs
After that day, Sunday, visiting day
We know he has his hot sun, his solar panels
His egg farm.  Chickens scratching, pecking
Cigarette smoke, old shoebox, old photos
Stories starring me, always the fool, all nerves and pratfalls
But I smile
He remembered, saved the memories, saved the pictures
Boy.  Such a boy at 5, at 10, at 21 a father
A boy still looks through the folds of skin, white hair, smoke
Cigarette smoke
He keeps the sun for us, keeps it busy, puts it to work
Earning its own keep
On a slant behind the hen house, next to the driveway, of his house.