The Cruelest Month
I beg to differ with the poet
who said April was cruelest of all.
For me it’s August, close and hot,
where smog lays down its pall.
Down the sidewalk towards the beach
Past my open door
Parade the young ones, in shorts and strings,
and very little more.
Were I young, I might agree
Getting tanned to be the way
But not these days where gravity
Causes all my parts to sway.
It’s not the heat or the muggy air
that really is the crux.
It’s my age that makes me say out loud
that August truly sucks.