September

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

histrionics.

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 109 times
Written on 2018-09-19 at 05:14

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text



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

Bibek
2018-09-22


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.
Ashe
2018-09-19


Sona
ha ha..wonderful way to put it.
thats what poetry is meant for.
Seasons and poems go very well together
2018-09-19