a summer too long

A Summer Too Long

 

I’m thirteen, sitting on my big rock

at the edge of the front yard.

It’s past midnight and I’m in my under-drawers and tank top

watching winged-insects do loops through the hazy light

of the street lamp.

Over the racket of window fans,  my mother’s and Aunt Joan’s gossip

floats out the open front door from the darkness and glowing tips

of their cigarettes to where I wait.

Deidre told me aspirin can burn a hole in your stomach, that you bleed

to death.  Nearly a whole bottle of Excedrin downed with coke

does nothing more than keep me up and make me fidget.

Before dawn, I give it up and go to bed.

Shortly, I’m riding clouds in blue sky with angels—

blonde and white-robed.  Down below someone strums a guitar

and sings sweetly:  Michael rowed the boat ashore, Hallelujah!

It’s for me I realize as everyone cries except my mother

who’s not present.  Next morning’s another day of no change.

All my friends still hate my guts for kissing Karen’s boyfriend Mike,

and my mother complains my antics will scare dear Larry off, as if

this drunk old tailor’s some terrific improvement over Adam with his

apple butt.  I’m sick of swabbing this guy’s scabby matted white poodle’s

pus-filled mite-infested ears!

Death by aspirin’s a bust, so it looks to be

a summer too long already.

 

15 Nov. 2004, 31 March 2009

Reviews

[Jim Clarke]

You have a knack for writing description. Keep it up!