Labor Day A veil of sun shimmered on the lake; a grove of pines blurred in its wake. Skinny girls teased with burnt-cork eyes, smoking Camels and getting high. Glare lifted like fog; the heat bloomed, like a spreading fire through the afternoon. Bleary-eyed dads came off their chairs; they staggered down to the sunburned square. Crushed by drink, they stomped and cried their dirty oaths at the steaming sky. The girls felt glee; they felt their best. They disrobed to show their mothers’ breasts – splendid and raw – for the dazzled men, that pitiless day at summer’s end. Middle Age Folly Lurching hole-eyed and numb, he wondered if talking might help. Maybe he could regain their respect that way; he could show wisdom as the product of his experience. He rehearsed during wretched nights: “Did you ever look into a mirror and see something lower than dog shit?” He gripped sheets as fever wrung him, sweat blistering his