They grasp the last days of August
The diehards.
With nails lacquered
Hot pink, coral
The heels of last seasons Flip-flops
Dug in, with
Tanned backs braced
Against the calendars relentless march.
You’ve seen them, in
Short shorts and Mini-skirts
Hoodies turned up against the interloping chill
Hands retracted into copious sleeves
The sun is gone,
The evening sky forlorn
The temperature – has slowly begun
Its journey south
Conversations of
Beach parties and summer movies, have shifted.
Given way to the subdued anticipations
of school.
One season has ended and another begun.
Memories of youth, alive with power and passion -
Put away, like so many pressed flowers
To be re-opened and re-lived
On cold winter evenings.
Bill Schatzabel 09/15/2008
