Each year

Nostalgia-reminiscing on family cookouts

Each year

 

finds the same scene

a group of men gathered around the grill on a mown lawn

debating what finished really looks like

 

debating the merits of charcoal versus mesquite

swapping secrets for that perfect cookout

remembering the way Grandpa made it

 

the glint of many summers reflects off that red sauce

while flies and ants conspire to raid the potato salad

half full cans of coke litter the table

 

small fingerprints smear the outside of the cans

the corners of the red and white checkered tablecloth softly flutter

as the sound of horseshoes clang on the breeze

 

invariably the conversation turns to gardening

the care that must be taken when pulling weeds

the feeling of the damp earth caking under the fingernails

 

the smell of the damp earth and how it makes you sneeze

how the eyes burn until you wipe the sweat

from the brow with the sleeve of a faded blue gingham shirt

 

how the back hurts from digging out roots with an ancient hoe

how the handle became dried out and old and gray—the blade crusted with dirt

how the disturbed worms squirm and dig their way back into the hollow earth