By far the most intimidating literary form, poetry has always been something I feared. Writing a novel is one thing; page after page can be deftly spent exploring character and nuance. Even short stories allow some wiggle room, but poetry suffers no literary fools. Every word must evoke. Every rhyme must chime. And every stanza must foretell a bonanza.
But a writer must countenance no fear, so I put my quill to ink, and penned a peerless paean to the premature passing of summer.
Bye Bye, Summer
Bye bye, summer, you’re gone so fast,
But while you lasted, we had a blast.
No more time to sit on ass,
Time’s run out to siphon gas.
Bye bye, scuba
Bye bye, tuba
Empty the pool, it’s gross and murky,
And there’s nothing left we haven’t dried to make jerky.
Hoist the surfboard up onto its rack,
And bring the racehorse back to the track.
Bye bye, coyote
Bye bye, peyote
Stow the sleeping bags, we no longer need them,
Set loose the fighting dogs, we can’t afford to feed them.
Bid farewell to circus kin,
And drain the bathtub of homemade gin.
Bye bye, kippers
Bye bye, strippers
Bye bye, summer,
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