I wonder if June knew she had been invited weeks ago
where is she?
we should find ourselves
in the throws of a Summer sunset
sunlight lapping against the pavement like
warm waters upon tropical surf
sea flirting with sand
running his fingers through her hair
like a cool breeze to beat that mean heat
that sticks to your skin
like you were first shampooing with boiling asphalt
then you turned the faucet to cold and found mercy
in the cooling pools of God’s love
in the disguise of a shower tap
or a sweet Summer’s breeze;
now, in this frosty mist
so out of place and unwanted this deep into June
a hot breeze would breathe life into these shivering fingers
who curl to fists to keep warm deep in my jacket pockets
who wears a Winter’s jacket in Summer?
I do when Summer forgets to show up for her own birthday party
giving me her best cold shoulder
leaving me cold and alone to write unrequited love poems
to the season who doesn’t love me back.