An Eight Minute Summer

We have no canyons here

no hummingbirds

no fireflies

no northern lights

but greys

and greens instead

 

we have waded

into December

the month of waiting

waiting for Christmas

for tinsel

for bells

for the phone to ring

for the phone to stop ringing

for the dark days to brighten

for the damp air to sweeten

 

today I woke to sun

a blazing sun

perched on a solitary cotton cloud

in a summer blue sky

I unfolded myself

creaked out of bed

condensed six million years

into ten seconds

as I demonstrated the evolution of man

walking up the hall

 

I opened the back door

sucked in air

still and crisp

there was frost on the grass

blackbirds in the trees

colour vibrating all around me

this day, a summer day

tucked away in December

this day was ours

we dressed quickly

the three of us

this secret summer’s day

waiting

 

for cereal to be gobbled

toast to pop

laces to be tied

teeth to be brushed and then

we are outside

under the blue

feeling heat

December heat on our skin

we play a little basketball

we skateboard down the hill

we are given eight minutes

eight minutes before

there is one cloud

then a dozen

not cotton

but dirty

 

old and worn dishcloths

heavy and silent and cold

a silver breeze arrives

then, of course, comes the rain

the drops fat and eager

 

©2018 BY STEVE DENEHAN. PROUDLY CREATED WITH WIX.COM

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