the very last day

roberto santiago: the very last day

I miss afternoons spent staring up
from a picnic into petals & plumes
that puffed across the lapis above us
until shards of glass forced us to squint
and giggle, fighting off the advances
of pigeons and seagulls on the sand.
      I never really understood Summer’s obsession
      with scavenger fowl. They always made me feel rushed.
      Rushed off the blanket. Rushed through my sandwich.
      Rushed back into the water and salt of the waves.
Summer was the sound of ice cream
soft as the speckled-blue of a Robin
egg, sizzling onto the hot of the pavement.
Summer filled your senses with music.
      The symphony of buzzing bees, crackling
      skin pirouetted on a spit, and the snake
      and samba of a grill after a mighty long day
      of frolic and tanning and leisurely reading.
      The synth of sweat spilling xylophone & snare
      down to that soft patch on your back.


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