When I lived on the South Shore of Massachusetts as a child, July 4th was fireworks, hotdogs, all the ice cream we could eat and long days in the sun. We stayed home, didn’t leave town. It was glorious with fireworks, friends, swimming on Peggoty Beach, and delayed bedtime. As a teen it was the beginning of freedom – boyfriends, long walks on the rocks and waitressing. Today summer is comfort – no heavy clothes, no heating bills, the sun, and long walks. It’s always fun like this light poem…

Talking to Summer

Flooded with poppies a field—blossoms too red, too lush

I reach for a wrinkled bandanna to catch the erupting gush.

Like a rabbit chased by a fox I blink with a summer sneeze,

see in my teary blues the green of a thousand trees.

I run on the outdoor path squish go my new white Ked—too late—I’ve stepped on a poop

my neighbor forgot to scoop.

The gnats and giant mosquitoes bleed me with every bite.

Will dragonflies come to my rescue their transparent wings in flight?

Poppies, cowpats, and bug bites kick up a loud disturbance

but never as bad as the sleet or the roar of a plow on the street.