poem

Downhill

Summer morning

Flags hang flaccid

Syrupy air

Thick enough to

Dog paddle through
Even the dew

Is salty like sweat

All you can do is 
Get outside and play!

Go ride your bike!

Around the block 

Around the block

Down the Beatty St. hill

Whoosh of cool breeze

Never lasted long.

Getting older is torpor

I rarely venture forth

Always seems like 

Way too much work

Stillness, glistening skin

Languid slowness

The lethargy of midsummer

Waiting for the fall

First frost, low clouds

The sound of the green

Getting sucked clean 

From worn out leaves

Yellow then brown then

A crisp crunch in my fist

Opened to the wind 
A sudden scattering

Like confetti

Like ashes

7/21/20