Poem for the summertime

and a photo of the moon

It’s hot and I was busy this weekend and my newsletter ideas are growing but not ripe. Instead, here is a poem about how I killed some flowers.

I stand on the sidewalk
Watering the sunflowers again
Some of them have already given up
Their backs still straight, they stand with their brown chins on skinny chests.
No arms. All their leaves shriveled to bits and broke off.
I water them anyway, 
Just in case.

The basket under the window, 
Once filled with orange and yellow zinnias, pink petunias
Hopeful nasturtium and sweet alyssum,
I killed it all when I stepped away for two days.
Now the basket holds brown, crispy leaves and stiff petals
And dust for soil.
The heat radiating off the paved alley 
Dehydrated everything.

It’s always like this,
The heat and the sun overpowering the world --
The flowers
The kids
Even the bikes leaning on people's alley walls look tired. 
In February you don’t believe in it
This, the inescapable summer. 
But let August come and you find yourself out on the block
Watering
Watering
With the dusty blue hose sprayer set to “shower” 
    and the dirt too parched to hold moisture.
 
Behind me,
The north hills rise so brilliantly pink-gold with the setting sun
I can hardly look at them.  

Northside moonscape, August 14, 2023.