The first
day of summer
arrives like
a maniac to a
dinner party
he wasn’t
invited to
but everyone
expected.
His eyes are
wild,
his hair is
a mess,
he yells a
lot, he wants
to play
electric guitar
while
surfing.
He makes it
hard to sit
around the
dinner table,
the butter
softens, chairs
are sticky.
Everyone is
slightly
uncomfortable.
But he’s
always forgiven.
Women love
him.
Men want to
be him.
Children run
to him like
he’s made of
candy.
He wants to
stay up late,
he wants to
listen to the
ocean at
midnight and the
wind blow
over the fields,
He tells
dirty jokes.
He’s never
wrong,
yet he can
be ceaselessly cruel,
and go on
for endless hours telling
stories that
have no point over warming
beers and
fruity island drinks.
He smokes,
he stalls, he lingers,
he tickles,
he teases, he incites
revolution,
he demands attention,
he
encourages nudity, he needs
basking.
He’ll come
to the party,
get everyone
laughing and
as soon as
everyone is nice and
comfortable
with him, used to him;
he’ll leave.
In his wake
are summer flings,
several poor
choices, sun burns,
empty
wallets, liver failure,
riots, chaos
and general unease.
And we can’t
wait till he shows up again.
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