Summer Is Half Over

The fact that summer is half over

is ruining my summer.

The mere thought sends a wave of autumnal

heaviness over me,

a blanket of wet leaves and

leaden skies, a premonition

of snow. The waves at the beach

thicken and slow into slurry ice.

The fireflies twinkling will

grow fainter and fainter until

they go south with the birds.

It’s getting closer and closer

with every distant clap

of thunder and every

clear, white sky day,

with every Mexican popsicle and

thrashing game of beach volleyball.

I need to wring the last drop of warm sunshine,

wade out to the second sandbar,

dazzle into the lacy surf,

taste the ripe berries, and

let them burn on my tongue.

On the Beach, 1929, Chicago. Gregory Orloff, Art Institute of Chicago