Arts + Scene » Poetry

Early June, 58°, Overcast



Today, it would have been nice
to flag down an ice cream truck,
get a tutti-frutti bomb pop
and sit on the sidewalk
licking the blue ice fast enough
not to let it drip, slow enough
not to get a brain freeze.

It would have been nice
to sweat, just a little,
seek out shade, drink iced tea,
wear a T-shirt without a sweater,
worry about sun exposure,
put on a straw hat,
go barefoot, wear sunglasses.

Instead, the damp fog continues
to hide the sun like an older brother
hides your favorite doll,
teases you for days,
giving you single strands of hair.
By the time you recover
your doll she'll be half-bald;
by the time the fog uncovers the sun
summer will be just about over.

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