A neighbor

Phenomena

It snowed in August.
I was barbecuing; a neighbor stood at my fence.
“Is that snow?”
Usually the neighbors don’t talk to us
Nor we to them; we nod if they pass by.
If they don’t wave back we nod again
At an airplane or a chipmunk rummaging over privet roots.
“I think it’s just ashes from the charcoal,”
But to myself I noted they were windlessly falling,
My nose was wet, and white dots fogged my glasses.
“What next?” he said, his shoulders slumped.
He was a tallish man who another neighbor,
An Italian ex-nun, told me
Had once suffered a nervous breakdown.
“Maybe we’re both seeing things,” I said.
I didn’t say going crazy.

The snow was like summer flies.
There were no clouds in the sky;
It fell from the trees two yards away
Where a lady had just died;
It fell from the golden eagle
Atop the umbrella protecting my picnic table.

“What next?” and he scratched at his bare knee.
I flipped a burger and rolled a dog;
A piece of charcoal hissed and smoked
As the snow started coming down now like it really meant it.