In Which Is Born A Strange Dynamic

There's grass in our backyard now! Doggies dream

Of such things, when of such they've been deprived --

Well most dogs, anyway. D'ja hear that scream?
"Eek! Grass!" quoth mine own collie. I've not jived

You there, I do assure you. When I go

Outside to sit and watch the sprinkler keep

The sod moist, does she join me? Mostly no.

Indeed, her mistrust seems to run so deep

That when her loneliness sets her to choose

To seek my company, she gives a scratch

Upon the backdoor -- but alas, you'd lose

The bet that she is coming out. The catch

Is that she wants me there indoors instead.

Politely I refuse. She bows her head.

In Which I Agree With South Park Children About Summer

The stupid sun just blazes in the sky
And I'm too close to it, here in Cheyenne,
Though I'd be closer back at home. It's dry,
But lo, it burns like napalm when it can.
When waves of it are visible, and when
The wind forgets to blow, when e'en the birds
Tweet less, I think of all the times I've been
Prostrated by the summer time. No words
Can e'er convey my sunburn's pain; no balm
Can comfort it, save vinegar, which stings

As much as it stinks also. But I'm calm.

I'm almost home, where, among other things

A ceiling fan and lemonade await

If I can make it. If not, good-bye, Kate.

Cruisin'

It's summer; school is out, the kids are free,
And they go screeching by in all their cars
As though it were a Friday night. When we
Were that age we were just the same. The stars
Glowed high above us, burning, dying, while
We paid them hardly any mind, except
When we were waiting, sometimes with a smile,
Sometimes with bitterness, for those who kept
On telling us "just one sec." Being out
At night time was so new, so glamorous,
E'en if it just involved a car, a route
That took us back and forth, some beer, some fuss
O'er what to blast through speakers. Life is short,
Especially when you're seventeen. Cavort!

Unburdening

Mundane and quiet, Saturday has passed.
Some friends are re-arranging, others purge,
Well knowing that there's little that will last
And will survive that never-ending urge
To get new stuff, replace what has grown stale,
And keep up. Summer's fading, and the change
Will do us good. Just one more quick yard sale
And then we're fine, right? Doesn't it seem strange
This churning? But it's what we've always done.
We shed our burdens gladly, breathe in free
And fresh new air, but then, because it's fun
And sexy, start accumulating. Whee!
But one day all of this will have to stop;
Another must dispose of what we drop.
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SONNET RANT: In Which Capitalists Are Rebuked When They Complain About Capitalism

Free enterprise, what makes this country great,
Say many, but there always comes a time
When jingoists and their ilk must partake
Of their own words, when they cry "it's a crime
That this guy's charging me so much for work
He's done for me today!" and when said day
Is one of rest, when he was home. That "jerk"
Is just as free as you to spend, his way,
His precious summer hours. And this July,
This Fourth, well it's a holiday for all.
Yes, your emergency sure sucks, but I
Don't see why that means that, when you must call
For help and interrupt another's fun
That he can't charge you more. That's freedom, son.

In Which I Regret A Choice Somewhat

Outside the glare is fierce; a strong, dry breeze

Blows harsh across the asphalt and the grass

Is parched. Three-thirty; eighty-five degrees

And I can't get myself up off my ass.

My head aches just to look out windows, and

It's only June as yet. In some despair,

Remembering my thoughts, I understand:

I made the wrong choice back in April. There

Were still spots on the graveyard shift. I chose

These normal hours, must endure the heat

And dust both ways on my bike, unlike those

Who've made the cool of evening their beat.

Next summer, note to self; the wee small hours

Are kinder when one's of limited pow'rs.

In Which I Share Some Folk Wisdom That Works

The best of all protection from the sun
And its most harmful ultraviolet rays,
Is long-sleeved shirts, high collars... that's no fun,
However, if, like most, you have a craze
To show off your well-turned and pasty limbs.
A miracle goop's on the market, though:
They call it sunscreen, which stuff at least dims
The angry red and blistering, you know.
Bar those, once burnt, one remedy remains,
On hand in ev'ry kitchen (one need not
Grow fancy plants or go to special pains
To buy some aloe vera gel); you've got
To splash some vinegar upon your burns.
The smell's not great; but oh, the sweet returns!

In Which I Try A Little Alchemy On A Bad Day

Some days start off so kind, one should suspect,
Immediately -- one's being softened up
For something awful. Where the disconnect
Occurred, I cannot tell, but in my gut
I'm sure it's all my fault. How tempers flare
When summer sets in well, how anger boils
At tiny things, and not one bloke can spare
A moment just to think. In such ways spoils
What could be quite a lovely afternoon.
But when things go wrong, of course one must fight,
Or be thought less than manly. Faugh! It's June.
You're right; I'm wrong and will be 'til tonight
When I get to unplug and pedal home,
While you will still be you, where'er you roam.

In Which I Try Not To Fry

So cloudless, clear, with nothing but contrails
To blemish all that blue -- it's fine, but fierce.
A searing sun at altitude ne'er fails
To pin me to the pavement. How the pierce
Of rays so pitiless doth wound; I wince
To think of it, well knowing that the thick
And sticky layer of sunscreen I've long since
Applied will not avail me much. I kick
And pedal powerfully for cover. Can
I make it much more quickly to the shade
Than I would were it raining? I don't tan
But burn, quite badly; it does not soon fade,
The pain or redness. Pale and weak am I,
Who scuttles, scared, beneath the scorching sky.

In Which I Split In Two And The Sides Do Battle

A liquor store is just across the street
(But it's the busiest street in Cheyenne).
A pouch of cocktails really would be sweet
(But it'a so dreamy here beneath the fan).
A walk provides much-needed exercise
(But calories eschewed need not be burned).
It's cheaper than a bar, and no barflies
(But you've got plans for all the coin you've earned).
The day has disappointed me. I'm sad
(But you've already planned an early night).
Just one mojito wouldn't be so bad
(Would there just be one? Ha! Put up a fight!).
Ok, so what should we do in its stead?
(Just watch a DVD, then go to bed.)


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In Which I Call Myself Out For Committing Grave Errors

I'm old enough to know much better than
To hurry on the days, and weeks, and years.
Though I expect to have a good lifespan,
Surprises do occur, and my career's
Not really what I'd call just starting, so
I chide myself a bit, to find I long
For these two weeks to hurry by; I go
Quite soon to Balticon. But it is wrong
To treat that time as worthless. I have made
Commitments e'en beyond the greatest one:
To make each moment count rather than fade
In idleness. E'en worse, I also shun
This summer, for I've plans laid for the fall
That thrill me more; mayhap the most of all.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Long To Be Outdoors All The Time In Autumn

It cannot be the smell of slow, cold death,
That drives me e'er outdoors this time of year
To exercise and draw in one deep breath
And then another, can it? Yet I fear
Sometimes that my deep love of Fall's just that:
A love affair with all that does decay,
Dry up, fall off, freeze, rot and then go splat,
Or just detach and gently blow away.
But summer's sun pins me down like a bug,
It burns my bare skin, gives me headaches, brings
Unwanted gawkers out who'll see me. Ugh.
Now as it wanes I think not of those things,
Just climb aboard my bike, relish the chill
And see how quickly I can climb that hill.

In The Golden Afternoon

Now here is an enchanting afternoon:

Insomniac, I go out to the swing

To read and laze a bit; I've nothing soon

That must be done, no not one pressing thing.

It's warm and sunny. My friend Adam's book,

A Danneman to smoke, the air is sweet --

Then through my front yard's trees I chance to look.

My neighbor gardens shirtless down the street.

I shouldn't, but I watch, and feel the breeze,

And slowly swing. The birds sing, insects trill,

And leafhoppers land on me. How they tease;

They tickle me with tiny feet. Hold still!

Around me, ants and beetles softly creep.

I close my eyes at last, and fall asleep.

BONUS SONNET: Epic Party Fail, Yet We Saved It

I started out my Friday eve'ning with

High hopes that summer of '09 would start

With one great smashing party, but a pith

To my poor fragile ego and my heart

Occurred on my arrival. Look! My ex,

For whom I real'ize I still bear a torch

Is here with his young wife! Oh so complex

Is my reaction. I hide on the porch,

E'en ere the rain and hail starts to occur.

I break, too, my resolve now to abstain

From liquor. Oh, it's fine; I have met her

And seen him before now. Yet there is pain.

But weather drove the sissies home to hide

And I stayed with my good friends. I abide!