Too soon to count the summer dawns
remaining, like cattle bunched before the gate,
yet these leftovers of a Gulf monsoon

that invade my sky like dark ships
over the Sierras from where a scattered flotilla
waits for orders, may cloud the day—

steam instead of bake the inhabitants
of this canyon—leave a little crunch,
like vegetables, life for tomorrow.



2 responses to “SUMMERTIME BLUES

  1. Don’t know what’s worse, steaming or baking.


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