Summer means warm rain
and you asking me if I like it.
It doesn’t mean sitting on a patch
of shaded sidewalk smoking cigarettes
even in 96º, driving too fast
on the highway, wearing shorts so
high-waisted your cheeks fall out.
Summer doesn’t mean letting go
of the seasons and living in the
right-here-right-now feel-good
weather-time. It’s not trips to the beach
or the greenest grass slipping between
your toes or sunscreen or sandals
or skinny dipping. I mean to say it is all
of these things but, most of all,
it is us, you asking me if I like it
as you fumble with your car keys,
and I like it so much
I could stand in the rain forever.