Noon Whistle

A row of old ladies under the blow dryers at a small town beautician. They were all named Pearl or Madeline, all frowning at some secret thought. The dog outside has worn a perfect dirt circle around his stake. A cement duck someone dressed in a yellow rain slicker looks on. Half the sky was dark with a storm, half empty and blue. The road with its heat waves, its urge to take everyone home to dinner.