Satan’s Season
Flies dapple dog doo-doo,
eggs fry on asphalt,
heat shimmers off highways,
the world’s out of focus,
out of kilter,
primetime for killers.
Over last night’s ribs and fries
happy magots creep, love that
restaurant backdoor dumpster reek,
slippery sidewalk
watermelon slush,
garbage can splatter—
nothing seems to matter.
Who else would have invented mosquitos?
Sure, there’s bikinied blonds, blue jays,
butterflies, and barbecue, but also
body odor, armpit stains,
relentless blue-sky blare,
the absence of care.
Long I wait
for that first
wilted leaf,
smell of earth-
crunch beneath
my feet. That
first blast
of air, crisp
against my hair,
that sings
winter’s almost here.
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