OF THIS, MY TOWN

This air is hot and heavy. It's humid!
I'm finding it hard to breathe this,
Damp, sulfur-smelling mess.
I tell my lungs, "Take a shallow breath,
We ARE living on the edge of the oilfield."

Sounds flow lazily in this steamy mist.
Seems safer to listen than breathe, so I do...
To birds chirping, a flutter, a who-who-whooo..
Then the guttural roar of a train runs through.
As the birds take flight, I am hit head-on.

Neighboring musical chords declare, "Yesterday,
All my troubles seemed so far away."
Someone else's troubles, or mine"?
Troubled notes clickity-clack; fading away,
And riding that train, they blow right on by.

I'm on the front porch swing,
On this hot, sticky, oily-smelling night,
Listening to the constant up and down plight
Of an ancient pumping-jack out of sight
Beating thump-thump, thump-thump.

Recalling that childhood nightsound
I question, "just how many strokes
Have you made all these many nights?"
"As many and as strong as your own heartbeat
Thump, thump, thump'" it's cadence pumps.

So, like a pouting child, I swing
Breathing the damp, stinking air
This old heart pumps with the pumper there,
And I embrace this place, my loving share
Of the sounds and smells OF THIS, MY TOWN.

My heart beats in time with the pumping jack,
My lungs inhale the familiar air
My ears hear mournful, whistling trains,
I swing, dreaming of cooling rains
Surrounded by things common and rare.