I can’t tell you how many times
he passed by it,
going about
the business of the day.
As if his business
was business,
and not school,
or the words he wished to say.
Kicking up the gravel
leading in,
he’d offer a nod to
big ideas and town works,
But never took the bait
to explore
the corners
where panaceas lurk.
That is, until,
he heard the thrum of the crickets.
That gentle whirring
in the summer heat.