End of summer

This is a prompt I have created. With Labor Day over and  summer coming to an end, write about your favorite summer memories. For me, I’m summing that up in a poem.

August

Dew that clings to grass

Won’t keep them away,

Neither will the rising sun

And temperatures.

Still in the clothes 

From yesterday,

Because they left

Even before breakfast.

 

Repetitive ticking of a sprinkler 

Accompanies laughter

That chases cool water.

Rollerblades,

Bicycles,

Jump rope.

Drinking water from streams 

Flowing from the mouths of hoses,

Because it takes time

To retrieve a glass

From the sink.

 

Wars terrorize

The backyard,

As shots of water are fired

From the largest 

Squirt guns.

And explosive bombs

Made of rainbow colors.

Red,

Green,

Blue.

It continues until 

There is a greater enemy.

United forces to

Chase down a truck

As its melody repeats,

To retrieve cones 

Of ice cream,

Most of it dripping 

Down their shirt sleeves.

 

Works of art sketched

In bold colors 

Down the walkway.

Castles built by hand,

Surrounded by motes

Made from buckets 

Of lake water.

Beach towels,

Swimsuits,

Sunscreen.

Fields of grass to roll in.

Playgrounds to climb on.

Responsibility to sell

Glasses of sweet

Lemonade,

Twenty-five cents each.

 

Dinner bells ring, 

calling everyone in 

To sit around the table 

lined with dishes.

Baked beans, 

Hot dogs, 

Corn on the cob.

Barking rages 

through the streets,

As dogs take their walk 

Before lying in bed.

Final games of Cops and Robbers 

Come to an end,

Before children are told

“Come in

When the street lights turn on.”

Last minute attempts to imprison 

Fireflies

For fleeting moments

In small jars.

The sounds of lawn mowers fade,

Human silence falls into place.

As darkness devours 

The colors in the sky,

Crickets sing their summer song.

And Katydids join in

Drowning out their sound.

 

People sit beneath

Galaxies of stars

Burning miles away.

Bug spray,

Lawn chairs,

Roasting sticks.

A sanctuary of flames

Against an endless, dark scene,

Where long conversation

Also drowns the crickets,

And three a.m. arrives

Before the logs finish burning.

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