Holiday weekend within view,
from my front yard I see that

the kid down the block has persuaded
her mom to set up an old-fashioned

swoopy sprinkler on their front lawn
because it’s 91 degrees. Here, by

Memorial Day, it’s automatically summer,
even before the solstice. And though

the first roses and azaleas and gardenias
have wilted away, their successors

are preparing their debuts any day now,
as the pollinators buzzing by can tell you.

I go dig out some fat sidewalk chalk
and walk a few pieces down the block

to the damp kid, hand it to her, saying,
“Draw me something,” and she shines

me a grin as if I just handed her a cone
topped with a whopper scoop of mint chip.

“OK,” she says, heading for the bare concrete
canvas at the edge of her lawn, and, I swear

I hear the tiny artistic gears in her head
begin to whir. She bends in half, drawing

a bright sun with petal-like rays, then
stands back, cocks her head, and says,

“It looks like a flower.” She bends again
another color in hand, adds a thick green

stem and arm-like leaves, chuckling at her
visual pun. “Sun. Flower!” she declares.

We both laugh because she’s got that right,
the artist getting herself back to work

for another minute before she runs across
the lawn to stand under the sprinkler,

arms outstretched, palms up,
a very credible sunflower herself.