Sounds--City Suburb, June 26

Tires rolling softly on black asphalt.
Bus brake pads catching circles, pulling into a stop.
No horns or rattling engines to hear from.
Only jet planes echoing exits and entrances in spurts up above,
and muffled voices on porches speaking of husbands, wives and children.
An electric voice through an open window calls bases, balls and strikes from a stadium.
Laughter from children bounces off aluminum sidings from backyards.
Loud throbs of an accelerating car radio pump bass beats on the avenue.
Far away, in a distant land, a siren sounds an ongoing emergency.
The storm door hiss slams shut with the click of a latch.
A hand flicks the black lock into place after that.
A dog barks from a yard, up a driveway to the street.
A chain pulls a dog in place, with a clang of tense metal.
My sandals flip flop with each step, one by one,
as if playing a two-step, city beat for the dusk.
The inhalation and exhalation of my own sighing breath.
A perfect compliment for my steps, solo beat after beat.
My ear captures the broken silence of my solitary stroll.
The trees catch the wind and sway their own sounds.
Waves of air like incessant surf on a rocky beach.
Limbs moving slowly in summer air, surrounded by subtle human sounds.
Barely audible gems ignored every summer day.
The jingle of the ice cream truck begins to tingle ears in the distance.
The melody is monotonous, sonorous and simple.
It breaks the harmony of a chorusing air conditioner hum,
those bursts of warm outer air pushed through the coils into cold inner space.
I play the ice cream song until it fades back away into memory.
Tree limbs and sandals sound the distances of a city suburb,
as a pleasant summer day turns down the volume into dusk,
and my ears filter all that is in between the trees and myself.