The Season for Deep Breaths

believe me, I'm trying, as June drags on—

the heat is getting to me by the hour

and it's even eighty degrees at dawn—

and by noon I'm a sad wilted flower.

*

you'd think July might be a tad better—

vacations galore and some time off work—

but I want to hand in my last letter

because I can't stand one more firework.

*

by August first I'm spent, it's all too true—

barbecues, pool parties, trips to the beach—

and I look back and so want a redo

since all I can write is a goodbye speech.

*

September will be knocking soon enough,

but my summer didn't feel up to snuff.