SUMMER SNAPSHOT

SUMMER SNAPSHOT

Summer is here, summer with feet bruised
from river rocks, pine needles in pillows
the swimsuit worn last three days.

We all smell of coconut oil
wear the sun through our hair whipped from wind
and open windows. Wet and dry, wet and dry
the pattern of these days, mixed with the grit
of river water, pool chlorine, Coppertone,
woodsmoke, good honest sweat.

Aches in our ribs, long legs
flex and flash in the sun.
Everyone’s eyes are perfect this dusk.

Old shirts, old jeans, cutoffs
half-dressed, half in swimsuits.
The girls skip shaving, strip bikini tops,
say, Aw shucks. This sloth delicious is all
reason: this sun, this denim, these few
elements we find again and fill a day.

We drink to warm beer bobbing in coolers
ice long melted.
We salute the old drive-in, its screen a skeleton
shreds of plaster peeling. We act the movies.
We run together like crickets.
We wear scrapes of volleyball games
like honor, like proof. Hickeys count, too.
Maybe double.

Summer is here and we can’t let it down,
not the parked trailer by the barn, not
the rope-swing by the creek, not sprinklers
and garden hoses, not beer buzzed by noon
not hammock siestas, not fresh lawn clippings
stuck to ankles, not sea-salt shimmering on
skin.

A good time to spend all pocket change --
especially on flip-flops at dollar stores
sunglasses at gas stations, inner-tubes at
the first town with a river.