Summer Evening, Edward Hopper, 1947
August is not a month for the meek
The incessant song of the cicadas has been known
to drive the weak of will to drink
and the weak of mind to madness
The pavonine petals of the proud tulips
have already succumbed
as have the other giddy blooms of spring
Only the most hardy, least demanding remain
to suck on the dust
and pretend it's rain
August is not a month for equivocation
There is no time for ambiguity; patience
ebbs as days grow shorter,
hotter
and the nights press down, heavy
with meaning and sweat.
submitted for Magpie Tales 77
