But what the hey.

Too much summer –
too much light –
what a bummer:
I want night –

yet I fight its fight:
obediently requite the season’s
yearning to ignite the power
of its pent-up and erupting fruit and flower

by devouring all the splat-and-shower
of July and June and August
that has barged its way
into my heretofore inviolable day:

which, who knows, may now sour
my past preferences
for April, January and October,
March and May.

Too much,
I say,

But what
the hey.


.