Our Summer is Half Over (for Marilynn Fikaris)

And Autumn is just over the hill, looming
moony and grim as a toothless grin.

And the family picnic’s scattered, relations
Vanishing like snapshots left in the sun.

And the callow fumbling of youth, banished
To the slender smirk of steadfast sobriety.

And our fierce anthems of fraternity, pickled
In jars for a stingy winter feast.

And that flag that’s been soaring, stutters,
Tattered in this bewildering, unseasonal gale.

And I cover my eyes and count to ten, howling
“Here I come, ready or not.”