When midnight flips And the stars stare disapprovingly Grip your elbows, bundle your sweater And start toward the porch. Summer slips over your teeth on the lick of a mussel. Cat tails salute that sinful sun. You stare into a fistful of sand… Four hundred fossils… Long Island Sound reclaims its history from your hand in a billow of surrender. and drags you toward Christmas. Twelve years of five and dimes leave you yearning for notebooks and pens, stiff jeans and the plastic smell of sneakers. Your mother worries; it’s a new bus route. August blares in cicadas’ incessant drone. Taste Autumn in the smoke of a charcoal grill Summer is as slippery as sweat And as evasive as shade at a family picnic.
A Collection of Poetry