You and I, two half-moons in a summer light

Because I've deactivated Facebook, this blog is probably going to be less read. But, I'm going to post the same, but more poems, and less blog-ery stuff. Here's a new poem . . .


As We Walk to the Corner Store


We’re half-seen like quarter-moons
as we leave the building into sunlight.

Next, you’ll say that you’re on the cusp
of a nervous breakdown,
and I’ll stumble into an explanation of a past experience.
Then, you’ll say something about your exhaustion,
how your muscles ache,
as we walk to the corner store.

As we walk to the corner store
I see you in short jean shorts,
and I’m reminded that it’s summer,
though at this point
seasons are like pools I don’t swim in.

We walk past a pool full of new water
and tenants upright in plastic chairs.
Everyone is dressed in bathing suits
which reveal winter skin.

Grass lifts into the air
from the running lawnmowers
of the lawn service.

Classes are finished and school is out,
as we walk to the corner store.
What to do now?
We’ll walk to the corner store for lemonade and cigarettes.
Then?
Then, we’ll rupture inside air conditioned rooms,
and bleed out onto porches.
Summer is simply a combination of sunlight and temperature,
and the veil between us had faded.
You and I, two half-moons in a summer-light,
Are, whether we like it or not, close friends.

Three lawnmowers continue to cut
separate small patches of grass,
as it flies into the air behind us,
as we approach the busy street
on our way to the corner store.