Tuesday, August 15, 2023



August again

The end of summer

The end of something you

Never got around to naming

Nostalgia arises for a Scheherazadean haze

Obscuring the details of what

Must have been your very own life 

Join me for a drink in the Florida room 

Where the ceiling fan rattles like a loose grocery cart wheel

And no one should be forced to endure these chairs

Wasps leer on the other side of the screen

But there isn’t anything to say

We listen, note the inconsistency of odors

Realize we’re out of gin

Out of gas

I should have mowed the grass

It’s high time we harvested the fruits

Of our own forgetfulness


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