Summer Here’s

Summer's here.

Lazy dogged days,

sleeping past the

sun's brutal rays

and my son's insistent

yelling into his computer headset.

"Hey, Parker. Hey, Parker,

can you hear me?"

I can hear him,

even under his

younger brother's

beehive droning whine

"What can I do?"

Don't tempt me kid,

I have a laundry list

of nagging chores like

that pile of pool-soggy

boxer briefs you

hung up on the bathroom floor.

Toast for breakfast, burnt

like my bare thighs

on my leather cookie sheet

car seat.

When we run out of bread

and patience.

Out of rhythm, still slightly foggy

and Pavlov-ed to a school bell

I swim in sleep past eight

groggy for being up late

as I revert to a night owl

chasing a drunken muse or

catching 40 blinks of a Netflix show.

The days lie long

across the hot cement

trip me up in their

endless length.

Begging to be filled

with shoes and beach bags,

tents and forts,

and hot, wilted lines

waiting for a thrill ride

or just to be inside

air-conditioning for

a cold minute.

Summer's here.

A time to cheer

when the school calendar

grows near

and life goes back

to scheduled chaos again.