One after the very other summer day falls open
like a book, swoops aside the heavy curtains
and the overbearing sun takes center stage refusing,
aging prima donna that she is, to step down for even
one performance in deference to her cloudy understudy.
Screen of cicadas’ hum lifts falls lifts again
Blue dragonfly pauses on my fingertip
Sun presses relentlessly down
July July July.
Honeysuckle perfumes my whole yard
enough surely to sweeten the bitter cup
of a hot steamy miserable July weekend
shoving its way into my merry little month of May.