I Don't Like July Much

February of the summer – tumbling slowly off
another peak into another purgatory: I don’t like July
much. Surely I should side with all the nearly

naked bodies romping down the slide of this
abundantly lubricious season: surely it gives reason
to exult in its immoderacy – all its blooming

gorgeousness of vice wherein varieties of insects,
human beings, weeds and blinking little mice
all open up their apertures to the inveterately hot

and spicy: but I find the whole thing dicey
and if pressed, as clearly I perceive myself to be
today, would have to say I don’t approve. I want

more shadow, coolness in the groove and oh please! –
far more darkness in the night. However, offered
a sufficient summer ripeness, I would bite.


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