it's thick syrupy pink sugar water
dripping ice down my chin
on a sweltering day in August
in the back of my dad's 1977 crew cab Ford
sitting next to the chainsaw parts
and grease stained wrenches
sucking down the cool treat with birch trees rushing by
we're heading to the lake
so deep and green a summer excursion
towels in my mother's plastic laundry basket
and her long brown hair whipping in the wind from the open window
I wipe the pink sticky residue from my fingers onto my cut-off shorts
my brothers engaged in a game of name-that-old-car with my dad
my bathing suit sits close to my chubby young skin under my clothes
as I squish a blood filled mosquito against the truck window
leaving a red streak in the glass
my mother says she remembers this place from her childhood
when there were no city people's vacation homes on every beach
and you could swim naked with no one for miles around
she tells us the story of Scrooge pushing uncle Pete out of the tree
on a summer night at a bonfire party of her younger days
then there's the story of uncle Pete gone missing at another party
and the couch strapped to the flatbed truck
only after they drove all the way home from the lake
did they find a drunk uncle Pete passed out on the couch
miraculous that he had not fallen off on the long ride back
the lake comes into view around the bend of the road kicking up dust
a cool breeze rustling the long stands of leafy trees
my father rolls the giant Skidder innertube down the beach
and it splashes into the water flopping on its side
it's so big it can hold me and both of my brothers as we paddle from shore
only when I am standing chest deep in the warm water
watching my mom and dad dive from the boat dock
and my brothers wading out to the deep
could I look at the blue sky touching the fir trees in the distance
and think that those sweltering summers would go on and on forever
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