Why Summer?

I come to you like summer

   and for the same reason that summer comes.

I prance before you, for you—

   make a spectacle of myself—

Embarrassed,

   but driven to be the one that knocks you up.

Every-man, I guess…

   but I’m the one that’s here.

Freud and Skinner and Mead

   have told us why,

But this is not the time

   for why:

I’m busy making a fool of myself

   for you.

Join me in foolishness,

   let your passion escape your fear,

And I will give you what you need:

   memories to caress and embellish,

Purpose without explanation:

   one who has to love you.

And what of the end of summer

   when I am gone

And you are full of life

   and lonelier than before?

You can have it all again,

   the memories, the dreams—

Summer need never end

   if those memories are made.

It’s not the things you do that haunt,

   it’s all those things you left undone.

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.


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