Today's the twenty-second of June, just one day later than the title of the summer poem I've picked for this first week of summer, "June Twenty-First," by Bruce Guernsey.
My mother's cigarette flares and fades,If this doesn't spell "summer from the 1960s," I don't know what does!
the steady pulse of a firefly,
on the patio under the chestnut.
The next door neighbors are over.
My father, still slender, is telling a joke:
laughter jiggles in everyone's drinks.
On his hour's reprieve from sleep,
my little brother dances
in the sprinkler's circle of water.
At fourteen, I'm too old
to run naked with my brother,
too young to laugh with my father.
I stand there with my hands in my pockets.
The sun refuses to set,
bright as a penny in a loafer.
Found in Pocket Poems, selected by Paul B. Janeczko [YA 811.5 POC].
This week, Amy is hosting the Poetry Friday Round-Up at The Poem Farm; stop by for a visit.
Photo by Magnus Franklin.