So, this late July day you’ve finally
come. Mother teased us for a month, smiling
and breathing soft, cool winds, rain storms barely
lasting an hour, leading lovers to sing
how spring always stays. Ah, we should have known
you were hiding under her apron, your
feet poised to leap out in surprise, blazed gown
spread like a wide-winged phoenix as you soar
around us in your torrid dance, fiery
kisses flowing from your lips. How they singe
each cheek and neck; hot vapors scorch every
nostril, lung and eye. No hope of revenge.
Mother’s always liked you best, holds no pity
as you abuse dew point and humidity.
Roger Armbrust
July 20, 2007
