What’s not to love about
That sickly sweet smell of
Fresh cut grass or
The eternal buzz of
A bumblebee?

Congealed corn syrup and
Liquid dairy all churned
Into that one big gloopy
Mess of summer’s favorite treat:
Ice cream.

Raging bonfires and
Scary stories of ancestors
Past.
How summer burns on
As the sparks ignite the kindling.

Berries run red with the juices
Of the sun.
Pudgy little fingers grab at branches Consuming every last drop
Until their bellies are bulging.

Everyone has a different story
And mine is
The whipping wind that
Tears your skin.

The dagger-like grains of
Sand that always
Follow you and hide in your ears
And hair,
And every possible crevice that your
Body has to offer.
Try as you might to wash
Away the impurities of the desert,
It continues to blister your skin
And smolder your heart.
Summer dreams of ice cream
And fresh cut grass
Are only that:
A dream.

So keep in mind
My dear,
There are many tales
To be told.
So as the bees buzz and
The berry juices run thick
And the ice cream melts
Summer is bittersweet.