Honeysuckle Nights

The new planted vine
sure looks straggly next to its
boisterous neighbors,

alone on the end
like the runt of the litter
pushed to the hind teat.

Sweat drips on the roots
as I bury them in mulch
on Spring's first hot day.

Soon honeysuckle
will skitter up the fence like
swarming anole

and I will have stars
even when a cloudy night
obscures the full moon,

wallowing in that
heavenly, confederate
scent of hot June nights.


Poetry Poem New Orleans spring honeysuckle summer