Summer has cracked open like a malachite-
Saturated green from one edge to the other.
Making everywhere inviting, promising
deviled eggs, chocolate layer cake and love.
The ice cream truck sends its siren song loose
In the backwater neighborhoods and young
Love in body piercings walks hand and hand,
Leavings soapy scents of strawberry at least
A yard or so behind.
The birds are bold and the fragile fragments
of their eggs sink slowly into the grass. Women
receive summer catalogues with dread, plan out
tightly scheduled diets as detailed as any general’s
Cantaloupe are three for a dollar and the milky, bruised
Yellow of summer squash are piled high and sold cheap.
They are taken home and grilled. Geraniums become
Impulse purchases, they ride home in back seats full of sun,
Twirl slowly on back porches or front steps.
In the evening, the cries of the children gathered in
Are heard against the still and bluing air. They protest,
They stall, they bargain with devilish skill and then,
Wailing, disconsolate, they are taken in to baths
And then to bed, where they throw the sheets off
and dream in the lilac scented night; the crickets
keep them good company.
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