Scrooging on Summer (A July Tale)

Summer is lost on me
with its long
laborious days
of horrid heat
and getting hotter
Whatever isn’t
liquified
drowns in torrents of
warm water vomited from
dark angry skies and
were it not for fresh
corn tomatoes honey
and cucumbers
I would gladly
leave it behind
Damn its scathing
hot eye
peeling my skin
My clothes never dry
The grey catbird that
frequents my deck rail
understands
Loudly crying like a
wet diapered child
for Fall to come
and change this
soggy swaddle

Orchard Days (Transient Youth)

I recall the orchard days
The youthful fruit
Juices flowing
Now the bark
is noticeably gnarled
bathed in the melancholy
gold of mid-Autumn and
the breeze
once blunt and hot has
been burnished to a
clean edge by the brush
of long summer days
and it clips away what
the tree no longer needs
scattering leaves
and years

Out-of-Season

Four leaves were shed
lazily
in front of me
as I made my way to
Front Royal
today
but they
were all wrong
these leaves

did not tumble
as dust from summer’s
broad shouldered
shrugs
rather
they spiraled,
pirouetted
in the gentle
dance of death
that belongs
to Fall
alone
and I was
undone
by this
brazen
display of
misplaced
melancholy
arriving
not quite a
fortnight
into July
on this
long drive
and my heart
skipped,
gasped,
grasped
at that
missing thing
I can never
define
as the miles
ticked by

Cirque du Seed and Sweat

Safflower found in the rolled up cuff of my too long jeans Odd pieces in odd corners through the kitchen and family room and one stuck to the dog’s belly Safflower sprouting under the steps Finches flinging and slinging safflower in all directions while doves dart across the deck to gather this manna from heaven and paranoid schizophrenic cardinals flit in and out in a perpetual state of “Oh shit! What was that!” and the bombastic bully blue jay appears occasionally and they all skedaddle for safety and it’s hot – damn hot