That's part of listening to my daughter,
but I guess about daughters in general.
Mine had bleached her hair to a lovely corn silk or straw
color [? liftener. ?] And she was growing in the--
as I say, in the heat of summer, with all
the hazards to growing, attending her every step.
It's called Tension.
Anyone can say corn silk, field straw.
Girls with yellow hair are away, down the avenue in dresses
like tents that the rain drew up, up, up.
They came out in the sun, taut to the rope pulled by the boys
away down the street, past the gray-stained awning
over the donut shop window and far as
the firehouse in dead serious joy and work-time masks,
planting their feet in the fertile heat with the borer
nymph grasshopper, root-knotter, summer
blowing wind in the street.