Summer is getting tired of me.
And all my heavy mornings.
And all my hot air.
She really can't endure

my being so full of myself.

I have begun to wilt,
brown around the edges.
Summer can't hide
her exasperation.

We snap at each other:

pissed-off church-ladies,

browbeating partisans.

Summer's really had it
with how I blow
everything out of proportion.
She's fed up with
my weepy wallowing,

my bargain-basement


Time for a change.

Overdue, in fact.
Trot out the old saws:

turning over a new leaf,
grazing in greener pastures.


But springtime weather

isn't in the forecast.

Summer tells me

in a frosty voice

she wants to call it a day.

Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 166 times
Written on 2018-09-19 at 05:14

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I like the weather/season metaphor--the way it is extended throughout the poem and the way it is personified.


Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
So well written! Season's descriptions, humorous statements, and just a delight all the way through. I admire your talent.

ha ha..wonderful way to put it.
thats what poetry is meant for.
Seasons and poems go very well together