Adieu August
August still thinks she is summer
stuffy, heavy air covering dusty roads
but high corn and dying trees give
her game away.
we're tired of you August, tired of
your too long days, of too much green
of too many greens
spoilt for choice, no storms just sluggish air.
you try to hide your aging face under this heat
but look, look at the brown leaves,
the already fallen, tokens of your old age.
you think your reign has not ended
but what is that condensation on
morning windows?
Yes, summer, cackling tourists, open window
and music blaring, ugly clothes, buckets and spades
Yes, summer, your time is up.
Now sweet autumn has arrived
sharp air, curtains pulled against early dusk
first nightly fires, the windows close
one by one - as surly summer goes.
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