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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