This little poem used to be two pages long. I think it's getting better.
We beach ourselves like lawn seals on green sand
and keep a slurry of juice and sparkling wine
in blue plastic cups on a red cooler.
Bicycles skim through waves of honeysuckle,
the last of the lilacs. We’re soaking in the hum
of rubber tires, the hum of hunting bees, the hum
of camp gossip and lounging teens. Noon sun struggles
to wake us, rings the Lutheran bells nearby.
But earth says relax in the pastel glare, my flower foam.
There will be time for bike rides at dusk,
for kites and the collection of lightning bugs.
Picnics rise and go out like tides. Pour more
champagne. Eat the mulberries that plop into drinks.
Smiles will fade soon enough.
And then drop by this site to get your guilt going about plastic shopping bags. You've been to enough conferences and bookfairs by now. Bring your totes.
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