© 2007 Erin Monahan
Summer passed without the fireflies
and mostly without campfires too.
There seemed to be only fire ants and sweat
and a few gatherings with friends --
some of whom have since moved on, like hope
for thunderstorms on unbearable August evenings.
Now Autumn stands at the edge of the yard,
hands held behind its back, shyly kicking at the dust
like the new boy who isn't quite welcome
at the neighborhood Labor Day picnic.
And I wish I could run to him, laughing
and pull him onto the back of my bicycle and ride off,
playing cards snapping in the spokes,
let our hair blow back into July afternoons,
back to roasted marshmallows, and watermelon
that dripped, unnoticed, onto our shirts.