May is just a promise, but…
Come June I slide into the languorous days of summer.
By July I have declined into complete debauchery.
Feasting on ripe plums, apricots, nectarines, melons, and peaches.
Munching huge salads and piles of BBQ chicken with cobs of sweet corn,
creamy potato salad with lots of celery, relish, and onions.
I tread water in the pool forever…
and get out only to pee, rinse off, and jump in again.
I am a brown bunny with a white tail,
from hours spent in the sun
sheltered by a hat, sunglasses, and SPF#30.
I try to read, but am too entranced by the clear blue water
and the circumference of green trees surrounding me.
I watch the show in the sky –
crows terrorizing a starling nest,
a red tailed hawk joins in the fray,
– a flying war ensues starring birds instead of fighter pilots –
hummers buzzing here and there,
the cacophonous calls of the quail who also live here
in the dense undergrowth of junipers.
By August I am wanton with lust for the water
and will refuse all other activities.
I am breaking in a new swim suit.
I HAVE to swim!
Don’t you understand?
I have given up cooking,
living only on hot dogs, baked beans, and salads.
No time for cooking when there’s swimming!
Come September they will have to drag me
off my summer raft,
back into the approaching darkness:
Winter and work
with only the promise of spring to keep me going.
The Swell Season
(First published 5/15/12)
