THE END OF AUGUST

Even the sun seems lethargic
A runny red yoke, reluctant to rise
Its tired rays bathe the street in sepia and melancholy

Your lush green lawn of May
is now a patchwork of dead spots and desiccated wisps
like whiskers on an ancient holy man

A scattering of scorched brown leaves
-- the ones that weren’t strong enough to make it until October --
lie in the backyard like a school of beached starfish

In town, the streets are empty
public places without any public
as if part of a government experiment
to vaporize all signs of life
except the white noise of the cicadas

Maybe everyone has gone to the beach to swim and sleep
To forget the end of summer.

Reviews

[Firestone Feinberg]

This is a beautiful poem.

[Pryde Foltz]

Fabulous seasonal write. Loved the starfish and holy man similes.

[rutherford]

Thanks Pryde. End of summer and beginning of fall is the real new year for me.

[Pryde Foltz]

I agree. I agree.

[Michael G. Smith]

Your metaphors bring this to life. When I read your writing I find myself thing "oh yeah" I see what he is describing like I knew it all along but couldn't formulate the right description.

[rutherford]

Thanks -- good to have that kind of feedback. My hope is that my expressions of thought are understood by others.