another summer and again familiar

the heat the sun the wind the endless sky

will this one differ from the last or the one before

or the earliest ones we knew when we were so young

these will mark this season in this time and place

holding it pinned like an insect caught just so

the large smile of a street dog as I pour water into her bowl

a woman in a full black evening gown gliding on a scooter

Mount Rainier half-hidden in the evening haze

a man playing a violin under the canopied shelter of the trees

as for you, you must find your own ways

delineate your own your time I cannot do it for you

not good at standing casually with a glass

filled with melted cold side stares

bubbly remarks now falling flat

and the requisite dash of acerbic bitters

hand me this and I get the urge

to throw the contents into the nearest smirk

to justify some stereotype (being from the South)

I always show with my iconic flask of hot tea

for the safety of all concerned

the bitter taste of childhood memories

salty and harsh like someone else’s tears

left on the pillow in a chance motel room

where once you stayed on a lonely trip

though not yours they end up in your mouth

jagged and broken on your tongue

and you dream of digging holes in river sand

where the water line is just at the surface

you awaken the next day

drenched and the bed is damp

when you walk out the door to the car

you feel the wet grit on your shoes