Early Summer Poem

I’ve reached an age where
the sound of children playing
beneath my window usually
makes me smile and takes me
back to days practically forgotten.

Today, I want to throw something
out the window at them because
my sinuses feel like they’re exploding.

But when the sun shines
on late spring mornings
I remember the days when
summer meant something.

And it’s hard to feel the sad when
the warmth finds it way completely
down into your bones.

There are four hands building
a mansion to the sky with
hammer and nails and
the ideas in their heads.

I’ve got my shoes off,
bare toes in the grass and
my hoodie pulled up over my face
to avoid the inevitable sunburn.

More and more every year
I have noticed that I think
summer comes quicker
than it did the year before.

I’m further from the days of
cleaning solution doused throughout
my Catholic school classroom than I am
to the crest of that hill old people
are always talking about and
sometimes my left ankle
stops working.

But it’s hard to complain when
the warmth makes its way
all the way down into
your bones and the
children are squeeling
at the birds flying overhead
and there are mansions to be built
on this grass that keeps breaking off
between my toes.


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