A half-eaten ice pop bleeds into the aging wood,
Melting under a dying sun,
Springtime flowers bow to the summertime king,
Wilting away,
Guardian trees endure the heavy beating upon the top of their leaves,
Fighting to ensure that shadow’s relief,
Garden sprinklers spit dry water upon the hot baked soil,
Slowing down as the sun dies, as the day dies, and the summer dies,
Park benches sit un-sat,
Without their fresh coat of ice-cream dripped upon them,
Playground slides stand un-slid,
Allowing the plastic to cook and burn the soles of small feet,
Beaches harbor no visitors,
Only miles of un-walked sand,
Warm salty water beats against the eroding shoreline, cleaning out its wounds,
Bikes grow dust upon their frames,
Sitting lonely in some cold garage,
Outside, the air is silent and heavy,
Allowing only the whirring of air conditioners to break its density,
Television screens and radio waves never dim,
Always pumping through the latest meaningless gossip,
The sky bleeds as if it has lost a battle,
Staining the horizon with blood,
As it too dies,
Bringing a close to a dying summer,
As the sun dips away from view,
Behind some shopping warehouse,
It devours the last remaining particle of raw ice upon the red-stained sticky stick,
And savoring the sweetly sour taste,
Disappears into the night of winter.