Posts Tagged ‘summer


sounds the same

They say seafood is an acquired taste but
By the time I turned thirteen I knew I loved muscles.
Some folks like to stick with local producers.
Provenance is no impediment to me-
Imported? Domestic? Artificially stimulated?
Hell, they all look good.
I’ve heard that you should stay away
From oysters in months whose names lack an “R”.
This rule does not apply to muscles
Because summer is when they’re at their best.
Squeeze on a dollop of oil, heat then add salt to taste.
I’ll eat ’em up with a spoon.
Damn. My mouth is watering already and
It’s cloudy and still early June.


Summer Book Dive

Chill of the library floor rose to meet her grateful soles.
(The broken flip flop and its mate now slung in the bag on her back.)
Sunlight and fluorescent light filtered through the stacks-
Playing shadows on her face- as she padded among them.
Distracted by a random idea, she lost her footing;
Plunged headfirst into a pool of deep thought
And was gone.



Sunshine-sprinkler rainbows
Lawn awash in verdant green
One brown patch stubbornly remains



Come with me on a picnic;
Let’s dine without table or chairs.
Come make love in the forest;
Let’s frighten the owls and the bears.
Come swimming in this warm pond;
Let’s leave our clothes here by the tree.
Bad place for you to get leeches-
Come to the ER with me.


It Tastes Like Progress

I remember tomatoes-
some of them lumpy-
Redly ripe, still warm from the sun.
Dirt crunching in my teeth because I managed a lick before
My mother whisked it away, into the house to wash it.
I grabbed another one and plunged my teeth into it;
The pulpy sweetness filling my mouth,
The tiny firm seeds between my teeth with the dirt;
I was eating summer.
Drizzly April day, I get tomatoes from Safeway.
Hothouse tomatoes: they’re cool and very clean,
Smooth, unblemished like Jessica’s skin after ProActiv.
The inside is pink, almost mealy;
The seeds nearly absent.
When I bite into it, it tastes like progress.


Just Like In The Old Days

It was a long summer afternoon in the middle of February.
Like when our parents used to shove us out the door-
“Get some fresh air! Go! Play! We’re going crazy with all these kids in here!”-
And you couldn’t get back in unless there was blood or you had to go to the bathroom;
All we saw the rest of the day was a pair of hands at the back door passing items through
(Like Thing from the Addams Family- which I won’t explain- and did I tell you a child asked me about playing Kick the Can on the Internet? Not via but virtually.)
A ball might be handed through the door,
Towels if the sprinkler was on or- if we’d been good- towels and clothespins
So we could play Batman and Superman and woe is you if you got stuck as Robin.
Tuesday we didn’t have Popsicles or towels;
It was only fifty degrees. I can’t remember the last time I saw a clothespin.
We had rocks that no one was allowed to climb on-
They’re on a playground for Pete’s sake!-
And a supposedly decorative red rowboat without an engine or oars
That, despite its newness, keeps falling on hard times and has to have the engine repaired
Or to be rowed to somewhere very far:
The Philippines or the 7-11 to get some Popsicles or to get Dad some more smokes.
We had sidewalk chalk to be used on sidewalks only.
Rainbows of chalk
Dragons of chalk
Blue spiders with fourteen legs but still only two eyes made of chalk.
And we had the swings that can still take you higher, higher, higher…
“Push me till my feet go up in the sky by that airplane. Okay then, how about until they’re above the monkeybars?”
There was magic dust in the sun;
Hardly anyone fought and no one really cried.
Until their parents arrived to pick them up to make them go home for dinner
Then they bawled and said, “Please, two minutes more” just like in the old days.


Boys In Their Summer Haircuts

Jason has a Mohawk.
Sam had a Mohawk too.
Sam’s parents were- shall we say- on the bleeding edge of hip:
Sam didn’t just have a Mohawk, his parents had dyed it with Kool-Aid
And his mother had a tattoo on her lower back that read “Property of”.
Jason’s mother seems to be very conservative and traditional.
I don’t think she got him a Mohawk for cultural reasons;
I don’t think she chose that style because of its punk connotations.
I think it’s just the new variation of the shaved-nearly-down-to-your-head cut
My brother used to get every summer because it’s easy to care for.
Now that style has its own connotations;
Reminding us of skinheads and neo-Nazis.
So we have the Mohawk, which has the added benefit of giving the other boys a look to strive to create
Standing in front of the mirror- with some extra help from the sink-
When everyone rushes in from playing in the rain.-