Summer’s Plenty

Where does time go

when your clock won’t stop

ticking for a lick

 

of summer’s plenty,

for sharp, salt-crested waves

that sparkle like dew on mother’s car

 

on Wednesday morning

in Jersey heat, the sun’s rays

rushing slowly– for they know nothing

 

new is coming– in patches

likes those she sewed on teddy bears,

kissing you good morning

 

and whispering in your ear, “almost

time for sun and surf” and your insides

rejoice in song.  But the tick-

 

tock continues, oh so steadily

on the bedroom wall, laughing

at your heartbeat, pleading “now.” 

February 18, 2014 

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