Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Summer Sonnet 18: Summer Funk

Black bananas greet my return home
sitting atop oranges turned stone hard.
Popcorn-size flies sing a quiet tome
at the beaded window facing the yard.

I am reminded that everything rots
as the salad in the fridge turns brown.
And as the gourmet-purchased cheese clots
a drunken beetle stumbles and drowns.

Summer stench wafts a lovely dark perfume
that bouquets the halls with a turgid life.
Hot rust dribbles down the sweltering room
belies roiling tropical storms and strife.

Deep in the sizzling belly of noon.
murked and muddle in the middle of June.

- By Aurin Squire

No comments:

Passion vs. Work Standards

More 8am thoughts about immigrants: I think the unspoken thing I got from school was that US-born students were expected to work really hard...