American summer

A poem.

The following poem was originally included in OVEN RED EVENINGS, my self-published poetry collection released in 2016. The first draft of this poem was written in 2010.

—

it was the summer of little rain.

it was the summer we watched

the rose bushes collapse upon their beds

outside of our apartment, shedding their water,

petals falling like dollars that nobody wanted.

it was the summer we saw homeless thunder-

clouds hurtle overhead like violent thoughts

on those oven red evenings,

listening to their dry hot shouts

crash against the loose shingles,

shaking the bones of the neighborhood.

it was the summer some of us still had jobs.

it was the summer of too many nights

sunk into a moldy couch left behind

on the back porch by its previous owners.

those nights a friend of ours opened

his guitar-case & pulled at the worn-out strings

until he put it away, muttering that he didn't feel like it

anymore. it was the summer we watched

small candles flicker in their tiny boxes

on the scratched-up table until the wind would come

& snuff out the tired flames.