Summer Showdown

Think back a few mornings ... I was lulled into a sense of invincibility (OK, so I'm exaggerating just a bit) ... actually, I was thoroughly enjoying the somewhat unseasonably cool weather we were having.

I tried to contain myself, though, and speak cautiously about it, for fear of bringing it to a sudden halt.

Apparently I didn't speak cautiously enough ... story of my life.

The heat is back. As I sit here at the sizzling keyboard at mid-morning, the temperature is still rising. I can almost hear those eggs frying on the sidewalks around town.

Summertime is back ... at least for a curtain call ... and, personally, I hope that's all it is. I'm ready for some cool ... not COLD, mind you ... but cool, pleasantly cool weather ... ple-e-e-e-ase.

Excuse me, please, while I reach for another ice cube.

Meanwhile, the poem:

SUMMER SHOWDOWN

Summer sun’s so boiling hot

I can almost hear the soft

clinking of spurs, stealthy

creaking of the boardwalk,

a sudden, smothering silence

in which the buzz of a fly

sounds sinister, foretelling

a showdown on the sun-baked,

hoof-pocked, clatter-plaited

street, where a tumbleweed

pauses in the sanctum of shade

cast by a tumble-down saloon,

where I stand, suddenly struck

by a lightning flash of thirst.

© 2003

(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger; now part of a manuscript in search of a publisher)

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Today's word: tumble-down